


Roads Paved With Golden Song

by drunkonwriting



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, How to Train Your Dragon AU, M/M, another movie/book rewrite, bilbo is badass and also rides dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonwriting/pseuds/drunkonwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins gains all sorts of unexpected things during the Fell Winter--a shaky accuracy with a bow and arrow, the ability to make a meal with no more than a handful of weeds and some water, the position as the head of his family's household . . . </p><p>. . . and an injured dragon left to die in the snows of the Old Forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Most Unusual Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

> alright friends, bear with me.
> 
> the premise of this fic is that smaug is born a couple hundred years later which means he (obviously) never attacks erebor. HOWEVER erebor IS still attacked by a dragon, which is partially explained in this chapter & will be expanded on later. the quest for erebor is still on and i'm using it as the layout for this story, but the further along we go, the more we're going to diverge from canon, since i don't see much point in just writing what already happened. however, nobody is going to die tragically at the end, so you don't have to worry about any surprise angst. 
> 
> you can imagine this as a sort of how to train your dragon au - i threw in a lot of the stuff i like about dragonrider lore and i'm going to roll with it. bilbo is going to be different as well bc of his connection to smaug and (as we'll see) the reactions of the hobbits to his new... acquisition. there's a lot of stuff that will be explained further on, especially about the exact nature of smaug & bilbo's connection. most chapters will start with some sort of flashback as well, to build bilbo's new backstory. 
> 
> pairings will be thorin/bilbo with some side dwalin/nori bc i love that shit. also some kili/tauriel in the background. i MAY make some of the dwarves female - if you comment, feel free to leave me thoughts or suggestions about that. i haven't really decided about it yet and it won't come up for a while. 
> 
> any numbered notes (e.g. [1] or [2] etc.) will be in the end-notes to clarify certain points.
> 
> anyway! i'll try and update once a week, but i'm in school and i have work and other fic, so we'll see how it goes. thanks for reading!!!!

**2911  
The Old Forest**

****_The snow comes down in thick drifts, blanketing the Old Forest so heavily that the only path through it has been completely covered. There are no footprints in the new snow—no Hobbit would willingly go into the Forest, especially during one of the coldest winters since the Shire was founded. Not unless they were desperate._

_Bilbo Baggins is desperate._

_He wears snow-shoes—an odd contraption made by his father just days before—and marvels at how much easier it is to walk on top of the snow in them, even if his walking is more like waddling. Across his shoulder is his mother’s old bow and a socket of arrows; he hopes that there will be some sort of game in the Forest that hasn’t been scared away by the cold._

_His family hasn’t eaten in three days; just the walk to the Forest was enough to make Bilbo light-headed and weary. If they don’t get food soon, he’s not sure they’ll survive to see Spring._

_He enters the Forest where the path should be; between the snow and the overcast sky, it is even darker than usual. Bilbo doesn’t dare light a torch, though. There’s always been stories about the Forest—the way the trees move, sometimes, or make odd noises._

_Bilbo walks for ten minutes without seeing any signs of life. The bow gets heavier and heavier across his back, his stride shorter and shorter as he loses vitality and strength. Soon he won’t even be able to make the long walk back. He must stop and turn back, only—he hasn’t found any food. How can he go all the way home empty-handed? How would he be able to face the lean, hungry faces of his mother and father, who depend on him to see them through this?_

_He can’t go back. Not until he has something, anything to show for this—_

_A sound. Bilbo pauses and turns. It came from the trees, the muffled cry of a dying animal; Bilbo’s heard it from cows and pigs. He begins in that direction, ducking under the branches of the thick growth of trees. If he’s extraordinarily lucky, the animal will be dead by the time he gets there and his only worry will be how to gut it and cut it up to bring it home with him in the snow and the cold. He sends a prayer up to the Valar as the sound comes again, much closer this time and slightly to the left. Bilbo veers and bursts into an open clearing._

_The snow is the clearing is muddled, overturned. Bilbo gets his bow to the ready and searches for the creature who must have created this mess, but sees nothing. He frowns, pausing near the tree-line. What if this is a trap, of some kind? He’s heard the stories. Perhaps there are creatures in the Forest who send out a dying cry as a way to ensnare potential hunters—_

_A soft cry comes from the very edge of the clearing, on the opposite end of Bilbo. He moves forward cautiously until he sees a brilliant red body huddled at the base of a tree. He’s never seen an animal that color, not even foxes, but it isn’t until he gets closer that he realizes what exactly it is. He freezes in his tracks as a golden eye meets his, filled with pain. Something shifts in Bilbo’s chest, like a screw tightening, as he meets the gaze of the first dragon to grace this part of the world in over an age._

_The dragon turns its head and spreads its wings—they are shredded things, incapable of flight and barely bigger than Bilbo’s arm-span. The dragon hisses, but the sound is weak, pathetic. As he recovers, Bilbo notices the dark patches on the dragon’s scales—bruises, perhaps, or soft spots created by repeated hits. Some scales are even torn free entirely._

_He steps closer and the dragon hisses again. As it tries to raise its wings higher, it shudders in pain and makes a high, keening sound. Bilbo shivers with it, feeling an echo of its pain without understanding why._

_“Ssh,” Bilbo says to one of the most terrifying creatures on Middle-Earth. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”_

_The dragon regards him carefully. Its golden eyes are very human—huge, discerning._

No, _it says, though it does not open its mouth._ No, you will not hurt me. You are mine. My treasure.

_Bilbo frowns. “Well, I wouldn’t quite say—“_

_Before he can finish, they’re both startled as an animal comes flying out of the trees. Bilbo has split seconds to think—to notice it’s a deer, to raise his bow and fire without taking aim and hope it’s enough—before he’s staring at the corpse of a stag with his arrow through its throat._

_“I was aiming for its chest,” Bilbo says to the dragon, numbed with shock._

_The dragon, to his surprise, burbles with something that can only be some form of laughter, odd as it sounds._ Will you share it with me?  _it asks._

_Bilbo runs an eye over it. The stag hasn’t been starving like the rest of them, apparently, for it is of a good weight. If he can find another one, he’ll have some to spare for the dragon. And where there’s one, there’s more._

_Besides, his mother would never forgive him if he let a creature of ancient legend die._

_“You can have some,” he says. It will be long, cold work butchering it in the snow, but he’ll make do. He brought knives and a pack for this very reason—easier to carry the meat back in pieces, especially since he doubts he can lift the body. “I’m Bilbo, by the way. Bilbo Baggins.”_

_The dragon’s silent for so long that Bilbo looks back at it, concerned that it has succumbed to its injuries, but instead finds its great golden eyes fixed on him._

My name, _the dragon says,_ is Smaug.

* * *

 

**2941  
The Old Forest**

It doesn't take Thorin long to find the forest—indeed, it was hard to _not_ notice the imposing thatch of dark trees settled just on the edge of the Shire. Thorin pauses as he makes his way up the main road, brow furrowing as he surveys the trees. He's never been to the Shire before and never seen what Gandalf called the Old Forest, but it strikes him as odd that creatures such as hobbits should live so close to a forest such as this, which breathes such malevolence. He hasn't felt this unsettled by trees since the last time he saw Mirkwood, over fifty years ago. 

Thorin continues to make his way down the road with considerably more caution than he'd felt just a few minutes ago, when the greatest preoccupation of his mind was the failed meeting with his kinsman. After three hours of listening to their excuses about why they couldn't provide any help to reclaim their homeland, Thorin had left in a disgusted huff. His brow wrinkles to think about it—even Dáin, the cousin Thorin had been closest to as a dwarfling, had refused to help. 

 _Is it worth the cost, cousin?_ Dáin had said to him. _The dragon may yet still live. Are you sure you’re not reaching for too much?_

It infuriates him to think of Dáin's cowardice—to leave a homeland empty because of the possibility of a threat! Thorin had only waited so long to storm his mountain to gather supplies, men, and find a possible entrance. Until Gandalf happened upon him in that pub in Bree, Thorin had almost given up on finding a way to sneak into Erebor undetected. And now that they have a possibility of a way inside, his kinsmen balked at the opportunity! 

Thorin turns a corner and pauses. At the edge of the tree-line, he sees a large group that he would know without looking is his Company. For one thing, no other group could be so _loud_.

"—late, as always—"

"—should we go in without—"

"—kind of person lives here—" 

"—it’s so _dark_ in there—"

Thorin allows himself a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose and count to ten before he stomps up until he stands just on the edge of his squabbling company. He waits for any of them to notice him and, when they don't, clears his throat pointedly. To their credit, they all fall silent instantly.

"Get lost again, cousin?"

Well, almost all of them. Thorin glares at Dwalin, who grins at him, unrepentant. 

"I am here now," Thorin says, and though several dwarves notice his avoidance of the question, at least none of them think to challenge him about it. He meets Gandalf's amused gaze. "Tharkûn, are we going to meet this burglar or not?"

Gandalf's eyes positively twinkle. "Since we're all together now, I think it's safe enough to go into the Forest," he says. "If we don't find him before sunset, however, I think it would be best to leave and try again in the morning."

Thorin's eyebrows raise. "It is truly that dangerous of a place?" he asks, skeptical. 

"It would not be wise to think otherwise, Master Oakenshield," Gandalf says. "If you will all follow me. Oh—and try to stay close to each other, will you? People have a tendency to get lost in this forest."

Thorin sees several of his Company exchanging looks as Gandalf swans down the path and stifle a sigh. The ways of a wizard are a mystery to all of them—but Thorin's always thought they were an infuriating kind of folk. 

They herd down the forest's path in a single-file line. Thorin stays behind Gandalf and is the first to notice when, after ten minutes of walking, the wizard takes an abrupt left turn. It isn't until Thorin goes after him that he notices the wizard is following another path forking off the main road—smaller and beaten down by foot, it looks like it is used often but only by a few people. Perhaps the person Gandalf dragged them all out here to meet?

The Company grumbles as they continue to walk, for the new path is considerably smaller than the main road and some of them have trouble with all the blasted roots and tree branches in the way. Thorin takes little notice of their bad temper, but he is starting to get impatient as they continue to walk without the sign of anyone else for another ten minutes. Perhaps _Gandalf_ is lost?

Gandalf stops so suddenly that Thorin nearly bumps into his back. He leans around Gandalf and frowns—the path in front of them is empty, stretching out into the wall of trees ahead of them. What—?

"You can come out now, my friend," Gandalf calls out to the trees. Thorin throws a baffled look over his shoulder at Dwalin, who walks behind him—perhaps the wizard really _is_ barmy? There are a lot of stories about Gandalf, after all . . . . "We won't harm you," Gandalf says, drawing Thorin's attention. "In fact, I was hoping you would offer us sanctuary for the night, if you would be so kind?"

There's just silence for a long moment. Gandalf sighs and opens his mouth, presumably to try and persuade his imaginary friend to reveal themselves, when the trees above their heads rustle ominously. Thorin's barely had time to draw his axe before a figure vaults out of the nearest tree, somersaulting over their heads to land neatly on the footpath, inches in front of Gandalf and Thorin. 

They are shorter than any dwarf, dressed in grey-brown leathers and green cloth, with a nut-brown mask drawn over their face. However, their pants are cuffed short to reveal large, hair, distinctly _hobbitish_ feet. 

"It is good to see you again, old friend," Gandalf says, his voice warm.

"I would say the same, Gandalf," the hobbit says. The voice is unmistakably male. "But I _do_ like some forewarning when people come stomping about in my part of the woods, you know."

"Well, I would send a letter, but we both know that there would be no one to deliver it."

"What, your little moths don't do paper service?"

Gandalf looks outraged. "I'll have you know—"

"And for Eru's sake, Gandalf, what are you doing dragging around a bunch of strangers into my home?" The hobbit goes up on tip-toes and whistles as he catches sight of the long line stretching out behind Thorin. "What is that—ten, fifteen dwarves? What in the Valar's name have you gotten yourself into now?"

Gandalf sighs with a particularly resigned kind of fondness. "Would you take your mask off, my dear boy? It is odd to speak to you without seeing your face."

There's a long pause and then the hobbit sighs. He reaches up and peels the mask off, revealing a face as smooth and young as a dwarfling’s, keen dark eyes, and a frown. 

"Thorin," Gandalf says, gesturing him forward. "This is Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo, this is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of this little party."

Baggins arches an eyebrow and meets Thorin's gaze so directly that Thorin's taken-aback—and not just because no one has looked at him like that outside his family since he was very young. Baggins has dark eyes, but this close Thorin can see a startling ring of bright, edgy gold around the outer part of his iris. Thorin's never seen eyes like _that_ before.  

"At your service," Thorin says, remembering his manners just in time. He bows his head, but when he looks up, Baggins looks more amused than anything else. Thorin scowls. 

"And I'm rather at yours, I imagine," Baggins says. "Though I can't imagine why Gandalf has brought you to meet me."

"If you don't mind, Bilbo, I'd rather we discussed this further at your home," Gandalf says, looking to the sky. "It'll be night soon."

Baggins blinks and looks up as well with a frown. "Yes, of course. But first I must have your promise, Gandalf, that no harm will come to me or mine while these dwarves are under my roof."

Thorin opens his mouth, outraged at the assumption, but Gandalf nods. "My word as a wizard," he says. "I will protect you and yours, should it come to that."

Thorin fumes as Baggins nods, apparently appeased. Does the hobbit think them animals, to attack him at the slightest provocation? Baggins turns back to Thorin.

"Follow me," he says. "We must hurry if we are to make it back to my home before nightfall."

"There is nothing in this forest that we fear so much that we must scurry like rats for shelter," Thorin says, still sour at Baggins slight toward him and his people. 

Baggins is not an imposing figure—shorter and slighter than Thorin and most of the other dwarves—but the ice in his odd, dual-colored eyes is enough to freeze Thorin in place. 

"You may think this looks like a normal forest, but there are many things to fear here, Master Dwarf," Baggins says. "Looks are deceiving. If you can’t understand that, why, I imagine you won’t survive long on whatever journey you’re planning to take."

He turns on his heel and stomps onward down the slim little path, head held high and shoulders tight. There's a long moment of silence as Thorin blinks and tries to remember the last time someone who wasn’t of his blood insulted him so easily.

Dwalin roars with sudden laughter and sweeps past Thorin. "Y'know," he says as he strides forward, "I think I rather like him."

Thorin thinks that if Baggins really _does_ end up coming with them, he's going to be a giant pain in Thorin's ass, but he has the good sense not to say that out-loud.

* * *

It takes another fifteen minutes walk to reach Baggins' home, and it takes all of them by surprise—one moment, they are on a footpath surrounded by trees, and the next they have entered a large clearing with a giant house square in the middle of it. The house is a few stories high, built from dark wood and, though crude, looks solid. It has a few windows cut in on each floor (three of them altogether) and a front porch, which has a few rocking chairs sitting on it. The front yard has obviously been converted into some kind of garden—it is lush with plants and flowers, though they are all able to approach the house without harming them thanks to a clever footpath winding through it all. Baggins picks his way through it with obvious ease. 

"Did you build this house, Master Baggins?" Balin asks with obvious interest. As an architect, he's always been interested in the buildings of other races. "It looks almost Man-like."

"I made the plans for the building," Baggins admits. "But I hired several men from Bree to do the actual construction several years ago. I had to pay them double to come all the way out here, but it was well worth it, I think."

Baggins opens his front door without stopping for a key—apparently whatever dangers live in this Forest aren't so ill-mannered to break in unannounced. They file in after him, taking in the inside of the house. There are flowers in clay vases everywhere and every spare space is covered with books—they pass several bookcases on their way in and, as they file into the living room, Thorin notices that many of the chairs and tables are covered with even more. He looks back and, sure enough, little Ori looks entranced. Balin and Dori look interested as well, although Dori might be more interested in the delicate tea set already set out on the main table. 

The living area is a squarish sort of room with several plush arm-chairs settled around a large hearth. Above the fireplace hangs portraits of a dark-haired, dark-eyed hobbit couple—surely Baggins' parents. The house is oddly empty and quiet, despite being so large; they must have passed on already, and it doesn't look like Baggins has married. 

Thorin, for the first time, wonders _why_ exactly Bilbo Baggins, who looks to be a perfectly normal hobbit, perchance for book-loving and oddly infuriating manners aside, has decided to live in a dangerous forest all alone.

"I have some cured meats hanging out back," Baggins says as the dwarves begin to settle in. "I'll get them heated up and we'll have a dinner—I'm only sorry that I can't provide more. I only usually have enough for myself, you see."

"Don't worry yourself, laddie," Balin says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "We are thankful for anything you can provide, of course."

"Master Baggins," Ori cuts in, sounding a little strangled and desperate. Thorin's honestly surprised it's taken him so long to speak up. "Is it alright—I mean, would you mind terribly—?" He casts a longing look at the precarious stack of books on the floor by the fireplace. 

Baggins' smile is a revelation—it turns his face from intent and intriguing to guileless and joyful. Thorin's a little stunned. 

"You can look at any books you like, Master Dwarf," he says to Ori, more gently than Thorin's heard him speak so far. "In fact, all of you may make yourselves at home. I don't have any beds beside my own, but if you can find a good bit of floor on the rooms upstairs, you're welcome to sleep wherever you like." He casts a look back at Gandalf. "And once we've all eaten, we can sit down and discuss the reason you've all come out to see me, hm?"

"Of course, Bilbo," Gandalf says, with his usual amount of infinite cheer. 

 _Wizards_. 

Baggins rolls his eyes and turns. "I'll be back in a moment," he says, and slips outside.

"I'd better go help him," Gandalf says. "If you'll all excuse me." 

Thorin watches the wizard leave with suspicious eyes and exchanges a look with Balin. As soon as Gandalf returns, they'll have to have a little  _talk_.

* * *

Bilbo thinks he might be having a panic attack. He's never had one before, but the shortness of breath and the black dots swimming in front of his eyes align with what he knows the symptoms to be and—

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo rounds on Gandalf with all the ferocity he can summon. "I can _not_ believe you brought a bunch of strangers to my home!" he hisses. "Not only strangers, but _dwarves_! What were you thinking! How could you not _warn_ me, Gandalf—"

Gandalf sighs. "I was afraid you would refuse to see me if you knew, my boy," he says. 

"Damn _right_ I would've refused—"

"And that would have been a mistake!" Gandalf says. "I don't just bring dwarves to your door, Bilbo Baggins—I bring an opportunity. An _adventure_."

Bilbo pales. "I can't leave here, Gandalf," he says. "You know that. You know _why_."

Gandalf runs an eye over him and sighs again. He reaches out to put a hand on Bilbo's head and ruffle his hair. 

"The Shire did more damage to you than they knew, sending you to live here," he murmurs. "I don't know that I can forgive them for that."

"They were afraid," Bilbo says, knocking Gandalf's hand away. "Can you blame them?"

"I can always be disappointed when the kindness of any race is brought short by fear," Gandalf says. "But their treatment of you should not keep you from living your life, Bilbo."

"I _do_ live my life," Bilbo says. "I read my books, I tend my garden—"

"You waste away!" Gandalf says. "You've sequestered yourself in this forest. At this rate, you'll never leave, you'll never see anything beyond the boundaries of the Shire!"

"And I'll say alive because of it!" Bilbo argues. "If anything, the Shire taught me a valuable lesson—I can't trust other people to understand—" He pauses when he feels an intent focus in the back of his mind and groans. Of all the bad timing—!

_You are hurt._

_I'm fine!_ Bilbo says, aware of the way Gandalf's eyes narrow at him. _Gandalf came by with a little surprise, that's all._

A mental snort. _That old man meddles even when he is not wanted._

Bilbo can feel him coming closer and groans. _You can't come down here! They'll see you!_

_Not if I land in the back._

Before Bilbo can argue further, there's a whoosh of air and Smaug drops heavily by his side, tucking his wings away. They still have webbed scars from his wounds when Bilbo first found him, but they healed well enough to allow Smaug to fly as well as ever. Bilbo sighs and meets Gandalf's amused gaze. Of course, the only reason Smaug healed at all was thanks to the wizard in front of them.

"Smaug," Gandalf says. "Perhaps you can convince Bilbo of my point. You have, I have always thought, had the most sense between the two of them."

Bilbo makes an indignant noise, because _that's_ hardly fair—

"You speak the truth as always, Gandalf," Smaug says, his deep voice amused. Bilbo smacks him on the shoulder Smaug turns one affronted gold eye at him. Around his pupil is a ring of very dark brown—the exact shade of Bilbo's eyes. 

"If either of us has good sense, it's _me_ ," Bilbo says. "You're the one who decided to pop 'round when I've got a dozen or so dwarves lounging in my sitting room! What if they see you?"

Smaug's entire body shivers—were he human, the motion would have been a shrug. "Then they see me," he says. "They cannot kill me."

Bilbo huffs. "You're not _invincible_ —"

Smaug bumps at his shoulder, hard enough that Bilbo stumbles. Smaug's tail comes up to steady him before he can and there's a whisper of an apology at the back of his mind, but Smaug's gold-brown eyes are intent.

"Listen to what Gandalf says."

Bilbo gapes at him. "He wants us to leave!" he says. "To go off and follow these dwarves to wherever to do whatever! We _can't_ —"

Smaug's tail curls around Bilbo's forearm. If he wanted to, he could crush Bilbo's arm with it; though it barely thicker than Bilbo's thigh, it has twice the muscles and strength. But Smaug only uses it to tug Bilbo closer until they stand nose to nose and Smaug can huff over Bilbo's forehead affectionately. 

 _There is no need to be afraid,_ he says. _They won't hurt me. They won't take me away from you._ There's a threat lingering at the back of that, at the idea of anyone taking Bilbo away and Bilbo settles his forehead against Smaug's and breathes for a moment. 

When he looks back, Gandalf has left. He huffs and looks at Smaug. "You really think we should listen to them?"

"I think there is no harm in seeing what kind of adventure Gandalf offers," Smaug says. "You want to see the outside world as much as I do, my treasure."

"But the _dwarves_ —"

"Gandalf would not put us in danger," Smaug says. "He would not bring the dwarves here unless he trusted them not to hurt us."

Bilbo ponders that. Gandalf was the one to heal Smaug, to come to their aid when the Shire grew tired of Bilbo Baggins' odd "pet" and exiled him—he came to visit at least every few months to bring news and company and some odd wares from every part of Middle-Earth. He is Bilbo's only true friend in the world and, now that he's been cut off from everyone else, his only real family beside Smaug. 

 _And we owe him,_ Smaug reminds him. 

Yes, there is that. No matter what they do, they will never really be able to repay Gandalf; but this is one step in that direction.

"I have to go get the meat," Bilbo says, but floods Smaug's mind with acceptance. "They'll start to wonder. Stay out of sight until I say otherwise, alright? No sense in springing you on them."

Smaug huffs in amusement, noses over Bilbo's forehead again, and then springs into the air. Bilbo watches until he is a speck in the sky and then turns to the small house in his backyard that he converted into a pantry. 

To think this day started out like any other.

* * *

When Gandalf comes back inside, Thorin goes to meet him. The wizard smiles, but his eyes are distant, thoughtful.

"Do you really think the hobbit is the one we need?" Thorin asks, frowning up at him. "Surely it will be too dangerous—"

"You asked me to find you a fourteenth member, Master Dwarf," Gandalf reminds him. "Bilbo Baggins is my choice and, in my opinion, the wisest choice you could make. He is a most extraordinary hobbit."

"Why does he live out here, Gandalf?" Thorin asks, glancing around the room. Most of his dwarves have settled in, chatting in small groups—only Dwalin stands apart, standing guard by the door that leads out front. "I do not know much of hobbits, but if this forest is as dangerous as the two of you pretend, why does he live in the middle of it?"

Gandalf's brow darkens and Thorin stares at him, taken aback. He's never seen Gandalf look so angry.

"It is not my story to tell, Master Dwarf," the wizard says. "Bilbo moved here nearly twenty years ago and has lived here ever since, let us leave it at that."

"But surely—"

The back door opens again and Baggins steps inside, plates heaped with steaming meat in his hands. Thorin bites the inside of his cheek when all of the Company's heads come up at the smell of food like hunting dogs scenting prey. _Honestly_.

"I'm sorry to say I don't have a dining room," Baggins says, ducking around bodies to set the plates on the low, large table in front of the hearth. "Never seemed much point, considering how few guests I have. If you don't mind the informality, we can eat in here."

Kíli, the little rascal, is already reaching for a leg of what is probably chicken, but Baggins surprise all of them by snapping at Kili's hand. 

"Not quite yet, Master Dwarf," Baggins says as Kíli yelps and draws his hand back with a wounded expression. "If you'll give me another five minutes and a couple more hands, we can have some bread and potatoes as well—and even some beer."

There's a cheer at that and Thorin watches as Bofur and Balin offer their services, following Baggins out of the door. He turns back to Gandalf, who smiles down at him.

"Let it lie until we have eaten, Master Oakenshield," Gandalf says. "You may ask the hobbit in question then."

Thorin scowls and stomps back to his place by the fire. Blasted wizards. They never tell anyone what they need to know.

"He _hit_ me," he hears Kíli exclaim to Fíli and stifles a smile.

Well. If nothing else, at least Baggins has proven that he has enough mettle to handle excitable young dwarves.

* * *

Bilbo grew up with hobbits and there's nothing a hobbit loves more than good food—but he's never seen _anyone_ down a meal as quickly as the thirteen dwarves in his living room. He watches in awe, his own plate forgotten, as every morsel is gobbled up down to the last bite, every plate licked clean. (Quite literally in some cases, such as the black-haired dwarf that Bilbo slapped.)

He eats his own food more slowly and considers his new companions. He's never seen dwarves up close before, even before he retired to the Old Forest—he'd considered going to the Blue Mountains, back when he was trying to get the house built, but his father had known Men in Bree and they had been more than happy to help for half the cost. It is refreshing to see another race at eye-level—elves are irritatingly tall people and men are little better. Even the way Gandalf, dear as he is, towers over Bilbo is enough to drive him insane. Dwarves, though, are the proper height; out of all of them, only their leader and the burly one near the door are tall enough to make Bilbo wary. 

They're all so _hairy_ , though. Hobbit men don't really grow much facial hair, so seeing beards as thick as the ones some of the dwarves sport is decidedly odd. And they've all got so many odd braids and hair ornaments and such! Bilbo's a little curious if they are decorative only or if they have some sort of meaning—he read somewhere that dwarves braid their beards for battles won, but he's not sure how true that is. It's difficult to trust any of the books written on dwarves, for they are a close-mouthed race and all the books were written by men. 

Bilbo finishes the last of his potatoes and sets his plate aside. From the number of dishes littered across the room, he'll have plenty of cleaning to do, but he'll leave it until tomorrow. Some of the dwarves have pulled out pipes—Bilbo notices that instead of wood, they are carved of _stone_ , of all things—and the room has become pleasantly smoky. The fire cracks in the hearth and Bilbo relaxes into his chair and wonders when they'll get down to business when there's a long, mournful howl outside the house.

That's a _huorn_ 's howl. 

Bilbo's on his feet only seconds before half of the dwarves in the room and he races to the front door. He knows some of the dwarves have followed him, but he pays them little mind, skidding to a halt near the front door and listening. The howl was closer than Bilbo can be comfortable with—it couldn't have been more than a half-mile away. The huorns never came so close, even at night, when they were at their most active. It must be because of the dwarves.

 _Bilbo?!_ Smaug roars in his mind. He feels distant, as if he'd been flying over the far part of the Forest. _What is it? What's wrong?_ He sounds like he's coming closer.

 _Don't worry, dear heart,_ Bilbo says. _It's a huorn. But I think it's gone now—it's probably just a warning for us._

He feels the anxious curl of worry in the back of his mind and sends back as much soothing comfort as he can, even as he tries to figure out if the huorn is gone or not. There's a dwarf right behind him, so close that they're nearly on top of one another, but Bilbo doesn't pay him any mind as he continues to listen. However, whatever the huorn doesn't howl again and Bilbo would notice if the spells around his clearing were to fail or fall. Once the silence passes the five-minute mark, Bilbo relaxes, turns around, and blinks up into the eyes of Thorin Oakenshield, who has a drawn axe in one hand and his gaze fixed on the closed door.

"What was that?" he barks out as soon as Bilbo faces him.

What a bossy dwarf.

"A huorn," Bilbo says, side-stepping him. 

The other dwarves who had come into the hall with him and Thorin are all holding weapons as well—axes, a mattock, and, to Bilbo's amusement, a cooking ladle. They all lower them as Bilbo passes, looking confused, but they follow him back into the living room willingly enough. The only one still seated there is Gandalf, who favors Bilbo with a questioning look. When Bilbo shakes his head, Gandalf relaxes fully into his chair and takes his pipe back up again.

"The living trees?" Thorin asks as he re-enters, his axe back at his waist. "They are a story, a myth. Tales to tell bad dwarflings to behave."

Bilbo snorts. Bossy _and_ arrogant, to think he knows the truth of legends. 

"They are as real as you or I, Master Oakenshield," he says. "The ones here have been twisted by the oldest huorn in the Forest, a tree we call Old Man Willow. He hates all trespassers and does his best to draw them from the road so that they are lost among the trees—and then he lures them to him so that he can capture them until they starve to death."

The dwarves are all staring at him now. Some of the younger ones look openly horrified. 

"The other huorns are younger and, whatever they may have been before, they are all in the thrall of Old Man Willow now and do his bidding. However, many years back, a friend of mine made a deal with the Old Man so that he could only attack travelers who came into the Forest after the sun had set. Anyone who sets foot in the Forest during the is allowed safe passage. In exchange, no person in Middle-Earth is allowed to touch the woods or chop down the trees." [1]

"So that's why you didn't want us to travel at night," Balin says, sounding thoughtful. "But why are we safe in your home? Why do they not attack you?" He gazes around the room. "And where did you get the wood for _your_ house?"

"Gandalf warded my home with spells and enchantments," Bilbo says. "It would take a lot of effort for the huorns to enter this clearing. The house was built from wood from a nearby forest on the other side of the Shire, which I had imported. And I have my own deal with the Old Man."

"Oh?" Thorin says. "And what is that, Master Hobbit?"

Bilbo meets his gaze and Thorin flinches as if he's never had anyone look him straight in the eye before. Bilbo knows his eyes are unsettling, but surely a dwarf such as Thorin can handle them?  

"Old Man Willow would do anything to keep this forest safe," Bilbo says. "So I offered to protect it when he couldn't—if anyone tries to cut down more trees or some such during the daylight hours, I stop them. I keep Men who would poach and excitable young fauntlings out of the woods. In exchange, the Old Man lets me stay here and kill some of the animals for meat."

"How do you stop them from entering?" one of the young dwarves asks. He's the one with the blond hair and mustache, the one who had taken out and started to polish a truly alarming number of knives after dinner. "Are you skilled with bow or axe, then?"

Bilbo snorts and feels an echoing curl of laughter from Smaug. _Confounded dragon, there's no need to be so amused!_

 _But it_ is _funny that any dwarf would think you good with sword or axe. Though you_ could  _tell them about your knife-throwing._

_You and I both know I've been getting rusty._ _I probably can't even hit a tree, let alone a moving target._

"I have good-enough aim to use a slingshot," Bilbo says, ignoring Smaug's distant laughter. "And I know as well as any other hobbit how to give a good solid thwack with a stick. But no, Master Dwarf, beyond that I have no fighting skills."

The blond dwarf's brow furrows. "But then how—"

"Gandalf," Bilbo interrupts, "I think it's time you told me why you're all here. That huorn wouldn't have come so close, normally—it knows that I have visitors and it doesn't like it. You'll all have to leave tomorrow before dark, so we've no time to waste."

Bilbo can tell from the exchanged looks that he hasn't diverted the dwarves' attention from the way he protects the forest, but Gandalf allows the change of subject nonetheless.

"Very well," he says, letting out a puff of smoke. "I think it's time we get down to business, then."

* * *

Thorin watches as Baggins settles into his chair and the rest of the dwarves re-take their seats. Gandalf gives Thorin a questioning look, but Thorin shakes his head. Better the hobbit hear their tale from an old friend. 

"Across the Misty Mountains, far to the East," Gandalf says, blowing another smoke ring, "there lies a single, solitary peak."

Baggins raises his eyebrows. "The Lonely Mountain?" he asks. Thorin's surprised he's even heard of it but, glancing around at the books surrounding them, perhaps he shouldn't be. "Wasn't it taken by a—" Baggins eyes narrow. "No. Oh _no_."

Gandalf beams at him. "Now, now—"

Baggins eyes narrow. He says, in a tone of recitation, "Two hundred years ago, a shadow dragon came from the South and drove the dwarves out of the mountain." Baggins shakes his head. "The books say he was a terrible beast that darkened the land and left it in permanent twilight. His name was—"

"—Sivath," Thorin finishes grimly. "Sivath the Destroyer." [2]

Even today, two hundred years later, he can still remember the terrible spread of the dragon's dark wings, the deep night that had rolled along the land after it, leaving everything in shadow. The deadliness of its black fire that was ever-burning and cold enough to freeze. 

"He razed Erebor and took its gold," Thorin continues, his eyes locked with Baggins'. "Drove out my people and destroyed the city of Dale that had once sat at its base."

Baggins bites his lip. "Thorin is a Durin name," he says, hesitant and unsure. Thorin's surprised all over again. How well-read is this hobbit? "I thought the line of Durin was lost at Dimrill Dale."

"Azanulbizar," Gandalf clarifies when Thorin looks at him in confusion. "Dimrill Dale is its common name."

Thorin's mood darkens at the thought of another terrible day in his life, the one that lost him the rest of his family and much of his people.

"My father and younger brother were killed there," Thorin says, ignoring the knife-twist of pain in his chest at the thought of them. "My younger sister and I survived. Her two sons come with me on this quest—Fíli and Kíli." He gestures to both of them, who puff up with pride. 

"So you _are_ the king," Baggins murmurs. "And you want to—what? Take back the mountain?"

"The dragon hasn't been seen in over sixty years," Thorin says. "Rumors have begun to spread that he is dead. There is no better time to take it then now."

"But he could be alive!" Baggins says. "What're you going to do, stomp up to the front gate and knock and hope for the best? That's a terrible plan."

What an insolent little creature. Dwalin looks like he's about to start laughing again, the traitor. 

"Gandalf has promised us a back-way into the mountain," Thorin says, though Gandalf has yet to reveal _what_ exactly this way is. "What we need, Master Baggins, is someone to scout the mountain for us before we can go inside."

Baggins eyes go very wide. 

"What we need, Bilbo," Gandalf cuts in, shooting Thorin a wry smile, "is someone quick and clever and, most of all, _sneaky_. A burglar, so to speak."

Baggins, for some reason, looks hurt by that. "You're not only asking me because of—"

"No," Gandalf says. "No, I know that he does not affect you that way. But we do need someone like you, Bilbo. The dragon knows the scent of dwarf already—it will not be expecting you. And we know that hobbits are the quietest of all races—you especially."

"Why can't _you_ go," Baggins says to Gandalf mulishly. "You're better at walking in dark places than I am!"

"And you must've killed a hundred dragons by now!" Ori pipes up. "Isn't that right, Gandalf?"

Gandalf looks flustered. "Well—"

"Come on, how many have you killed?" Kíli demands. He looks mischievous, the little rascal—probably knows as well as Thorin that Gandalf hasn't slain any dragons, but likes to make the wizard squirm.

Thorin watches Baggins as Gandalf squabbles with the young dwarves. The hobbit doesn't look like he's going to reject them out of hand, though he is still wide-eyed and pale. Thorin doesn't think he's going to be much use, of course, but it will even out their party to have a fourteenth member and Gandalf seems particularly stubborn about it being this specific hobbit to take that place. Perhaps Baggins will surprise them.

"Will you kill the dragon?" Baggins asks, interrupting Kíli's obnoxious interrogation. "Sivath, I mean?"

"If he's still alive, we will stop at nothing to drive him from our home," Thorin says. "He is a greedy worm who defiles our ancient halls."

For some reason, that makes Baggins look even more anxious. "You won't even try to—to—reason with him?"

Thorin barks out a laugh. "Reason with that animal? Master Baggins, I might as well try and talk an orc out of killing for pleasure. I was there when the dragon came—I remember the death and destruction it rained down on me and my people just to possess our wealth. It will have no sympathy or mercy from me."

Baggins hands have tightened into fists, for some reason. He looks around at the other dwarves, but none of them so much as waver, even the youngest ones. Finally, Baggins' gaze rests on Gandalf, and whatever he sees in the wizard's face makes him relax, just a bit. When he looks back at Thorin, his eyes are clear and direct. 

"Before I can make a decision, I ask you to answer one question of mine, Master Oakenshield," he says. Thorin inclines his head. "Why do you want to reclaim the mountain? Not just because it's convenient or the dragon might be dead— _why_ do you want to take it back so badly that you will storm it with only twelve other dwarves and potentially face a dragon's wrath?"

Thorin gives the question the consideration it's due, for if this hobbit follows them out of his Forest, he follows them into grave danger and possible death. Still, the answer is an easy one, for Thorin has had the answer since he was forced to watch his father's head separated from his body and became the true leader of his people.

"My people have been forced to wander the lands of Middle-Earth since we lost our original homeland in Khazad-dûm," Thorin says. "We found a home in Erebor from the grace of Mahal, but when it was taken from us, we were forced to wander once more. I am sick of my people living on the charity of men who look down on them, going homeless and starving in the streets. I would give them a home again, if I can. That is why I want to retake the mountain: it is the best chance at a home we will have."

He feels the eyes of every dwarf on him, but he only meets the gaze of Bilbo Baggins who, after a long moment, gives him a slow, thoughtful nod. 

"Well then," he says. "When do we leave?"

* * *

Bilbo sits in his backyard in the grass and looks up at the stretch of sky above his head littered with stars, his mind chewing on the events of the last few hours. After Bilbo had agreed to come with them, Gandalf had given Thorin a map and a key, explaining that there was a secret entrance into the mountain that would allow them to go inside without alerting the dragon, if it was still alive, to their presence. Bilbo had signed a lengthy contract and slipped out of the door while everyone else was distracted discussing their plans for the upcoming travel.

 _Do you think we made the right choice?_ Bilbo asks Smaug, who he can sense flying overhead. If he squints, he can see a small black shape against the night sky. _We'll have to tell them about you soon, you know. Probably tomorrow._

 _I think that there is a part of you that longs to see the world outside the Shire,_ Smaug says. _And this is your best chance._

 _What if they hurt you?_ _They don't seem to think well of dragons, Thorin especially._

 _They will not hurt me,_ Smaug says. _And they will never touch you._ A protective snarl accompanies the idea of that, leaving Bilbo in no doubt what Smaug would do if any of the dwarves try. _Gandalf will help convince them that we are on their side._

Bilbo worries over what will happen like a dog with a favorite toy. He can't help imagining the worst possible scenarios—Thorin attacking Smaug as soon as he sees him and killing him . . . .

_You worry too much, my treasure. It will be fine._

_You don't know that,_ Bilbo says. _Oh, Yavanna, what was I thinking!? Maybe I should just go back inside and tell them that the deal's off and I'm staying here—_

Feelings of amusement, concern, fond irritation. _Calm down. What force on Middle-Earth can take both of us together? If the dwarves do not like us, we will drive them out as we drove out the men or the fauntlings._

 _They didn't have_ axes—

_We have Gandalf on our side too. He won't let them hurt us either._

A thud as Smaug lands in the backyard. The heat of his body is pleasant as he comes and curls around Bilbo, just big enough to cover him completely. Bilbo rests his head against the beat of Smaug's heart, the heavy, comforting thud of it that has kept Bilbo grounded since he was barely a tween. 

"It will be dangerous out there," he whispers. "For both of us."

"But it will be a glorious adventure, I think," Smaug says, sounding wistful. "Doesn't that outweigh the risks?"

Bilbo snorts and pats the nearest foreleg in fond amusement. "You reckless creature," he says. "You'd have me dive into any dangerous situation possible just to get the thrill of it, wouldn't you?"

"Don't worry, my treasure," Smaug says, curling more tightly around him. "I'll keep you safe every time we do."

Bilbo smiles and, as the minutes pass, gives in to his drowsiness, allowing sleep to come over him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Huorns are basically Ents. The ones in the Old Forest are not very friendly, especially Old Man Willow, who is canonical. The "friend" Bilbo references here is, of course, Tom Bombadil. In The Lord of the Rings, Old Man Willow is the sentient tree that lures in Frodo & co. and tries to like… eat them. They're saved by Tom Bombadil. Old Man Willow is probably not quite sentient enough to be making deals and whatnot, but let's pretend that he is. There's also not really any evidence that there are more huorns in the Old Forest besides Willow, but once again… let's pretend.  
> [2] Sivath the Destroyer is my own creation. "Shadow dragons" don't exist in Tolkien canon, but I didn't want to do another fire-drake. You'll learn more about Sivath as the story goes on, but suffice to say that shadow dragons bring a lot of death and mayhem and can also breathe fire—but their flames are "cold" instead of hot (like a fire-drake's).


	2. Meet the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my godddd i'm sorry this is SO LATE. i've had a hard time with midterms & whatnot these past couple weeks so it took me a while to get this put together, plus i had to rewrite it like four times bc nothing seemed to come out right. hopefully this version works. thanks for all the comments & kudos, you're all lovely!!!!!! thanks for reading!!!!

**2911,  
** **Hobbiton**

_Bilbo staggers into Bag End, weighted down by the meat stuffed in his pack. His parents come to the door as soon as he enters, hovering anxiously over him as he unwinds the layers from his body and takes off the snowshoes. His hands and face are numb, but feeling starts to return to them as he soaks in the warmth of his home._

_"You found something?" his mother asks, eyes lighting on the bag of meat that he has deposited by the door._

_"Deer, in the Old Forest," Bilbo says. "Only two, though."_

_His father opens the bag and frowns down into it. "They must've been skinny deer."_

_Bilbo hesitates, glances at the still-open door. He can feel Smaug lingering outside, just out of sight. His mind is muffled by pain and exhaustion, but Bilbo can still feel his trepidation at letting others see him in such a vulnerable state. Bilbo loves his parents, but he's not sure how they're going to react to this either—perhaps if Smaug wasn't so injured, he might take a chance and hide it from him, but he's afraid Smaug might die if they can't get him help. It took all the dragon had just to make the journey back to Hobbiton._

_"I found something else in the Forest," Bilbo says._

_"Something?" his mother asks, brow furrowing._

_Bilbo bites his lip. It's not like he's bringing home a stray cat, what in Middle-Earth is he supposed to—_

Just tell them. _Smaug's exhaustion is a physical thing to Bilbo, a heavy weight on his shoulders._ Just do it.

_"Something—odd," Bilbo amends. He looks at the door. "You might as well let them see you."_

_His parents both look alarmed, but it's nothing to sheer shock on their faces when Smaug shuffles into view, limping through the front door of Bag End. He's not much bigger than a large dog, so he fits in the main hall easily enough. Bilbo shuts the door behind him to stop the cold and the snow from blowing in and puts his hands on Smaug's head as he waits for his parents to recover. Even after so many hours outside, Smaug gives off heat like a furnace, and he warms Bilbo's hand down to the bones._

_"That's—" his father says, gobsmacked. "That's a—"_

_"—dragon," his mother finishes, and Bilbo grins at her blatant fascination. "What in Yavanna's name? You_ found _him in the Forest?"_

_"He's injured," Bilbo says. "See his wings? Someone abandoned him there." His father's shock snaps at that. "He, uh—well, he can't quite remember much, I think. His mind's all fuzzy."_

_"How do you know?" his mother asks._

_"I told him," Smaug says and his parents jump._

_"Oh!" his mother says. "Oh my, I had no idea dragons could speak Westron!"_

_"We can speak most languages," Smaug says. "Though I have never seen a race like you, so perhaps not. Are you dwarves? I have heard dwarves are very small and live under the ground."_

_Bilbo's father straightens to his full height. Out of all three of them, he is the shortest._

_"We," he says, poking a finger in Smaug's direction, "are hobbits, good sir! Infinitely more sensible and clear-headed than dwarves!"_

Your father is odd, _Smaug says to Bilbo. He realizes when his parents don't react that Smaug only said it to him. How does that even work?_

_"I was hoping we could help him," Bilbo says. "He's so terribly injured, y'see, and he helped me catch the second deer."_

_"Ah," his mother says, a light dawning in her expression, "and I suppose he also helped you with the first deer."_

_Bilbo shifts guiltily. "I couldn't just—"_

_His father waves a hand. "No," he says, his voice warm even as he runs a considering gaze over Smaug. "The moment we forget to help others even when we are in need is the moment we lose our humanity, my boy. It's right that you saved him and brought him here. Do you have a name, dragon?"_

_"Smaug."_

_"Well, then. I'll thank you to have good manners while you're under our roof and—well, it's been hard times recently so I'm not sure how much we'll have to feed you. But we'll do our best to take care of you and—oh, Bilbo!"_

_Smaug has collapsed, his eyes fluttering shut and the thready consciousness Bilbo hadn't even realized was drifting at the back of his mind going still and snuffed as a doused candle. Bilbo cries out before he realizes what he's doing and presses his hands to Smaug's head._

_"Oh no," he whispers._

_"Quick," his mother says. "Quick, get him into one of the rooms. We'll do what we can for him."_

_"What if it's not enough?" Bilbo asks. None of them have particular skill in healing and it's a far different thing to bandage up their own bruises than it is to heal a dragon!_

_Belladonna Baggins gives him a grim smile. "Well," she says. "I do know a wizard who owes me a favor."_

* * *

 

**2941,  
** **The Old Forest**

The house is quiet when Thorin wakes; the only sounds are the birds chirping outside and Bombur's rumbling snore a few doors down. Dwalin and Balin, who'd shared a room with him, are still asleep, so Thorin stands silently and dresses, puts his armor in place, and makes his way downstairs. He passes several dwarves passed out in the hall and Gandalf, who fell asleep in one of the chairs downstairs, as he makes his way outside. 

He's surprised when he steps out into the backyard and finds Bilbo Baggins sitting on a low bench by the house, smoking a pipe. Baggins looks up as he approaches and he chokes on the smoke he'd just inhaled. Thorin doesn't let his smirk show, but he does feel a little smug at discomforting this odd hobbit. 

"You're an early riser, Master Baggins," he observes as he takes a seat next to him. The bench had obviously been built for one in mind, but it is wide enough to just barely hold the two of them. Thorin is oddly aware of the places where Baggins is pressed against him.

"Habit," Baggins says, recovering. "And I like to watch the sun rise." He takes another puff from his pipe and blows out a perfectly round ring. Thorin's never managed to get the hang of that—all of his rings come out slightly lopsided. "You're up early as well, Master Oakenshield."

"Habit," Thorin says, smirking a little. Baggins rolls his eyes.

"I was thinking I could make breakfast when the others wake," he says. "I've some eggs and bacon stored up from the last time I went to Bree—I should use them before I close the house up for good." He looks a little discomforted by that thought, but Thorin isn't about to encourage him to change his mind about leaving. "Then we can be off, if you'd like."

"We'll be making our way for Bree down the Great Eastern Road," Thorin says. He notices Bilbo tense up, but pays it little mind. "I was hoping to stay there for a night before we make our way to the Mountains."

Bilbo shivers. "Are we going _through_ the Misty Mountains?" he asks.

"Aye," Thorin says, raising an eyebrow. "Quite a bit faster than going around them."

Bilbo shakes his head. "You hear stories, that's all," he says. "Some of the men in Bree talk about goblins in the mountains, or worse. One man told me he'd seen stone giants, can you imagine?"

Men have too little courage and too much imagination. "There's little enough to fear, Master Baggins," Thorin says, annoyed. "You'll be traveling with us, after all."

Baggins snorts. "I don't think a healthy amount of caution is something to scoff at, Master Oakenshield," he says. "After all, if you had continued to be reckless in my Forest, Old Man Willow would have you in his thrall by now—you and all your dwarves."

Thorin growls. "Dwarves are hardier creatures than hobbits or men," he says. "Your huorn would not have held me or my Company."

"Maybe," Baggins says. "But maybe not. And isn't it safer to err on the side of 'maybe not' instead of getting yourself killed just to prove yourself courageous?"

"You speak as a coward," Thorin says, contemptuous now. 

Baggins scoffs. "I speak as a realist, Master Oakenshield," he says. "I speak as someone who wants to survive to see old age—and so should you, if you actually do want to make it to your mountain. Do you think it'll help anyone if you charge into something and get yourself killed?"

"I think there's a mighty fine line between your caution and running away from danger with your tail between your legs," Thorin says. What an exasperating hobbit. "Better to die in glorious battle than live to be a coward."

"Better to live," Baggins says, blowing out another ring. "When you're dead, you won't care if you die gloriously or not, Master Oakenshield—you'll be gone, and you'll leave behind a whole host of people who will mourn you either way."

"Are all hobbits this stubborn?" Thorin asks, crossing his arms and scowling. 

Baggins smiles. "It depends on the situation," he says. "But most of us are an easy-going folk."

Thorin remembers his confusion from last night, about why Baggins would choose to live out here, amongst the dangers of the huorns and the loneliness of the trees. If he were Balin, perhaps he would've found some way to subtly nudge Baggins into revealing his past—but Thorin's never had much patience for subtlety. He forgets his irritation in his curiosity and leans toward Baggins, shouldering into his space.

"You are an odd hobbit all around, then, since you live out here as you do," he says. He cuts a glance back at Baggins, whose grip has tightened around his pipe. "Why is that, Master Baggins?"

There's such a long pause that Thorin almost things Baggins won't answer him. 

Finally, he sighs and says, "Well, I didn't have much of a choice. I was banished from the Shire when I was not yet 20."

Thorin's mouth drops open a little— _banished_? It's true he's never had much contact with the hobbits, but he's heard the stories from the men in Bree—they're an easy-going folk, content with their pipeweed and food and dances. Banishment seems a harsh punishment from them, and he can't imagine them enforcing it for anything less than the highest of crimes. 

"Why?" he demands. "What did you do?"

Baggins laughs, but it is a broken, harsh sound. "We hobbits are not like dwarves or men or elves, Master Oakenshield," he says. "We put great pride in never doing anything out of the ordinary, never going on any adventures or doing anything unusual. There are exceptions, of course, but even they follow this code to some degree. Enough that when I did something so unusual that it couldn't be ignored—well. They sent me away."

Thorin looks at the hobbit—despite his odd dress, he seems as normal as any other hobbit Thorin's seen from a distance; perhaps a little shorter, a little leaner, but otherwise, quite unremarkable all around. 

"What was it that you did that was so unusual?" he asks, nearly vibrating with curiosity now. 

It must have been terrible indeed, to make them banish him off to this odd, semi-sentient forest with talking, murderous trees. He's not sure Baggins will answer him, for the hobbit has gotten progressively paler as their conversation has gone on. But Baggins almost seems to expect this question, for he stands before Thorin has finished asking it and puts his pipe away.

"I had hoped for a better time to tell you this," he says. "But, as we say, there is no time like the present. I have something to show you, Master Oakenshield, and I would ask your word that you will keep calm until I can explain fully."

Thorin stands as well, alarmed. "Is this thing dangerous?"

"Not to you," Baggins says. "Or to anyone inside that house."

Thorin lets out a long breath and searches Baggins' face for honesty. His dual-colored eyes are clear and bright—Thorin cannot see a lie in them. He thinks of last night and the way that Baggins had taken a leap and agreed to sign their contract and follow them all down the most dangerous roads imaginable—for that, Thorin can give him this. He nods and Baggins raises his hands to his mouth to whistle, high and clear as a hunting bird.

There's a moment of absolute silence and then a hard, heavy thump on the ground behind Thorin. Thorin tenses, hand going instinctively to his axe, but at Baggins' look, he withdraws it. Slowly, he turns around and freezes.

There is a _dragon_ in Bilbo Baggins' backyard.

It is smaller than any dragon Thorin's seen or read about, but it's unmistakable—reptilian in face, long and narrow in the chest, with long, veined wings. Its scales are redder than any ruby, but it is the eyes that draw Thorin's attention—liquid gold and intelligent, they have a band of dark brown around the pupil that matches Bilbo Baggins' irises almost exactly. 

He whirls back on Baggins, mouth dry with shock. It can't mean what he thinks it means, it absolutely _can't_ , and yet . . . . 

"He is yours?" he demands. "You and this dragon, you are—"

"Bonded."

Thorin shudders at the sound of the dragon's voice; it is deeper than he expected from the creature's size. He remembers Sivath screaming as he plundered Erebor and his hands go back to his axe. 

"He is not Sivath," Baggins says as if reading Thorin's thoughts, stepping forward. He's wringing his hands, eyes going from Thorin's face to his axe. "He is . . . my friend and companion. His name is Smaug."

"You've _bonded_ with a dragon?" Thorin asks. He's never heard of such a thing. Dragons are wild things, untamable and unstoppable as a forest fire, servants to darkness and chaos. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know." Thorin scoffs and Baggins throws his hands up. "I _don't_! We didn't know what was happening until it was already done! He was abandoned in the Forest when he was young and I found him. It was—instantaneous. Like a baby duckling imprinting on its mother."

"It is not a duckling," Thorin says. "That—thing is cousin to that which destroyed my _homeland_ , Baggins—it is cousin to every monster who ravaged Middle-Earth during the First Age—"

"Would you hold one accountable for the sins of the race?" Baggins demands, face flushing as he takes another step forward. Were he a little taller, he would be nose-to-nose with Thorin now. "Should I hold Thorin, son of Thráin accountable for the gold-sickness that ruined his grandfather and drew the dragon to his mountain in the first place?"

His words are a physical blow—Thorin reels back from them in surprise and hurt. How did Baggins know about Thrór? Perhaps from the books, though Thorin was sure that none of them talked about the gold-sickness in detail. And to pretend that Sivath was drawn to them _because_ of that, that his family was somehow responsible—!

"That is a filthy lie," he hisses, drawing his axe. "That is—"

"The truth."

Thorin whirls on the dragon, axe held high, but it merely regards him calmly with its golden eyes. It is hardly bigger than a horse, but Thorin knows well the hardness of a dragon's scales—even if he _were_ to throw his axe at it, it would hardly even scuff them, let alone wound it. 

"Dragons are drawn to hordes, Oakenshield," Smaug says. "Your grandfather amassed a net of wealth that would've drawn every dragon in Middle-Earth to it, had more of us survived—but Sivath is one of the last. My mother was in thrall when Erebor's wealth hit its peak, and could not go to try and take it for herself."

"Your mother?" Thorin asks. "In thrall to who?"

Smaug shudders from head to tail. "It is of little concern," it says. "But Sivath would not have come to your mountain if it wasn't for the greed of your grandfather, Oakenshield." [1]

Thorin takes a step toward him, but he stops when he feels a small hand grip his elbow, curling on his arm with more strength than Thorin had thought Baggins capable of. He turns reluctantly, but doesn't put his axe away. 

"It's true, Thorin," Baggins says. "That much gold in one place—it's as good as a homing beacon to dragons. Your grandfather doomed you the moment he started to care more about wealth than his people."

"Did your dragon tell you this?" Thorin asks. "They are filthy lying _worms_ —"

"I told him, Master Oakenshield."

Thorin turns to see Gandalf surveying him from the doorway of the house, his hat back on his head and staff in hand. He shows no surprise at the sight of the dragon—Thorin reflects bitterly that wizards rarely reveal things unless absolutely necessary. It's something Thorin was willing to overlook for Gandalf's help, but he's regretting it now.

"Gandalf—"

"You are not to be held responsible for your grandfather's mistakes, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór," Gandalf continues as if Baggins hasn't spoken. "Just as this dragon is not to be held responsible for one not even related to him."

Thorin meets Gandalf's calm, stern gaze. The wizard is odd and manipulative and Thorin's not sure that he should trust him, but he has a feeling that if he makes any sort of attack, Gandalf will retaliate—and if there's one thing he doesn't want, it's to fight a wizard. So he lowers his axe. Just as he tucks it into his belt, though—

" _Baruk Khazâd_! _Khazâd ai-mênu_!" [2]

—Dwalin comes rushing out of the door, pushing past Gandalf and brandishing his twin axes ferociously. Thorin sighs. Dwalin has always had phenomenally bad sense of timing. 

"Put the axes down, Dwalin," he says. 

Dwalin eyes them all suspiciously. "There's a dragon," he says, as if he simply thinks Thorin _hasn't noticed_. 

"Put. The axes. Down."

Dwalin huffs and twirls them in a showy display of power before he puts them away. A clear warning to all parties that he may be listening to Thorin, but that didn't mean he was without teeth. Thorin resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"We should move this inside," Baggins says, moving forward to stand at Thorin's shoulder. "Better to explain it all in one go, I think."

Thorin can see others of the Company peeking out around Gandalf and when he sees the way their eyes widen and their hands go to their weapons, he resists the urge to sigh and rub the bridge of his nose. What has this blasted wizard gotten them all into?

"Fine," he says to Baggins and stomps inside without waiting for him.

* * *

Bilbo really wants to turn invisible or jump on Smaug's back and fly away. 

_Stop being such a rabbit_.

Bilbo scowls at Smaug as he watches Thorin and Dwalin stomp away back to the house. Gandalf has already ducked back inside, presumably herding the rest of the dwarves. 

_Don't call me a rabbit,_ he says. _Doesn't this worry you at all?_

_There isn't much they could do to hurt me,_ Smaug says with the implacable calm of a creature who has never been physically attacked in his life. _And if they try to attack you, I will simply curl around you and bite anyone who comes close_.

Sometimes Smaug worries Bilbo a bit.

_No biting anyone,_ he says and follows Thorin and Dwalin back into the house. Smaug follows at his heels—he's getting big enough that he almost can't fit in the door anymore. Bilbo's not sure what he'll do when Smaug goes through another growth cycle—expand the house, probably. Maybe an add-on with bigger doors and rooms. The contractors will be suspicious, of course, but they all already think he's mad anyway for living in the Forest.

They come into the living room and find the dwarves arguing amongst themselves. 

"—a _dragon_ , he has a _bloody dragon_ —"

"—it'll _eat us all_ —"

"—is he some kind of wizard, how—"

"—can't believe you didn't say anything, Gandalf—"

"—bloody _dragon_ —"

They fall silent, one by one, as Bilbo stands in the doorway, Smaug peering over his shoulder. Several of them—the youngest among them—go white when they see him. Only Thorin looks truly unaffected, but perhaps he is just too busy being furious. 

"Well?" he snaps when Bilbo doesn't move and the silence stretches on. "Are you going to explain or not?"

Bilbo's never met a more exasperating person before in his life.

"Oh, sit down," he says to the rest of the dwarves. 

They all scramble to obey his orders as if he's Thorin himself—Bilbo realizes, with a little amusement, that they must think he'll sic Smaug on them if they don't listen to him. He's reluctant to tell them otherwise; it could come in handy with this lot.

Bilbo takes his seat last, on the floor next to where Smaug stands. Smaug curls his tail around Bilbo and levels a look full of promise at all the dwarves. Bilbo can see Ori physically gulping in response.

_Stop that,_ he says. _It's going to be hard enough for them to trust you as it is._

_I don't see why I should,_ Smaug says, feeling sulky but amused. _It's not my fault they can't see I won't hurt them and I'm only making fun. Are all dwarves so dim?_

Sometimes Bilbo's glad that Smaug usually speaks in their mind-speech.

"His name's Smaug," Bilbo says to the group. "I found him in the Forest during the Fell Winter nearly thirty years ago—he'd been abandoned in the snow. He can't remember much of his life before that; Gandalf and I assume that he was held in thrall like his mother and that's why his memories are so fuzzy."

"In thrall?" Ori asks timidly. "Like—like he was enslaved?" He looks vaguely horrified.

"Yes," Gandalf says. "Though some dragons operate for evil under their own free will, there are several who are held under enchantment by powerful magics. Smaug and his mother are such two, although I can only assume that his mother managed to break free and take Smaug with her before she died."

"She dropped me here and then flew away," Smaug says and they watch as almost all the dwarves jump to hear him speak. "But I felt her life draining from her and when she died. She must've known there were people here and hoped that I could find peace among them."

"When I found Smaug, something—well, extraordinary happened," Bilbo picks up. "We formed some sort of bond the moment we met."

"A bond?" Balin asks, leaning forward with interest. He doesn't look nearly as alarmed as any of the other dwarves, or as homicidal as Thorin or Dwalin.

"A mental connection," Bilbo says. "Smaug and I can feel each other's emotions or hear each other's thoughts. I'm always aware of where he is and he is always aware of where I am."

Balin examines them for a moment. "Ah," he says. "I suppose the eyes are a symptom of that?"

"Yes," Gandalf says. "It developed about a year after Smaug came to Bilbo—I observed the change myself. I do also believe that their lifespans have been altered as well, for Bilbo remains extraordinarily young in body and face for one his age and Smaug should have taken much longer to grow to this size."

Bilbo frowns at him. "Tooks are very long-lived, you know," he says irritably, for he's already had this discussion with Gandalf several times. "It could just be genetics."

"It bears mentioning," Gandalf says, twinkling at him a little. "Other than that, I've noticed little difference, however."

"And the dragon is the reason you live in the Forest?" Thorin asks, obviously remembering their earlier conversation.

Bilbo bows his head. He doesn't like to speak of the reason he came to live in the Forest—he's been here so long he can sometimes pretend that it was his choice to isolate himself from his family and friends.

"We managed to keep him hidden for several weeks as he was healed and recovered," Bilbo explains. "But once the neighbors found out . . . Well, my mother was a formidable woman, but after she and my father died, I had no protection. I was still underage, y'see, and nothing could be in my name, not even my family home. So the leaders of the Shire came together and decided that I could not be allowed to live in the Shire anymore because of the danger Smaug and I posed to its citizens—they banished me from the lands." Bilbo smiles a little. "The Forest is not technically in the Shire, so I retreated here, made my deals with Bombadil and the Old Man and have lived here ever since."

All the dwarves stare at him as if he's just dance naked in front of them. Some of them, oddly enough, look close to tears. But surely they know more about hardship than Bilbo? After all, at least his homeland wasn't entirely destroyed and at least he can still see it, even if he can't visit. He is lucky, in that regard.

"I argued vehemently with them, of course," Gandalf says, his tone dark. "But they would not listen to me."

"You're Gandalf," Bilbo says, exasperated. "You know that to the Shire, you only mean trouble and madcap adventures. I would've been amazed if they had listened to you at all."

Gandalf huffs. "I am a great and powerful wizard!" he says. "They should be honored at my council!"

"Great and powerful wizard or not, whenever you show up someone ends up going missing on an adventure!" Bilbo says firmly. "Including me, I might add, even if no one will miss me."

"That is because the Shire only has fools left in it now that you and your family are gone," Gandalf says. "That your own grandfather would agree to that ridiculous punishment—"

"The Old Took did what he thought was right," Bilbo says. "And it happened over thirty years ago, Gandalf. He's dead now, remember?"

"It is just as cruel and stupid now as it was then."

"They were afraid," Bilbo says. "They saw a young, foolish, _Tookish_ hobbit who had suddenly gained 'control' of a dragon—and what do hobbits know of dragons? That they burn things, they wreak havoc and start wars—Oh, stop it, Smaug!" he says when the dragon glowers at him. "You know that I don't think that!"

"Your _grandfather_ banished you?" Fíli asks, horrified. 

"My grandfather was once the Thain of the Shire," Bilbo says. "It's a hereditary position—his oldest son took it when the Old Took died. I believe Fortinbras is Thain now—one of the grandchildren. In any case, the Thain and the Mayor of Hobbiton and the Master of Buckland all . . . well, I suppose you might call it "rule," but they mostly just oversee their own areas and they really only converge if it's a decision that affects all of the Shire, like me and my banishment."

"The others who decided—the Mayor and Master or whatnot—were they family to you as well?" one of the dwarves asks—Bilbo thinks he's Nori, the dwarf with the tri-pointed hair.

"Well—the Master is distantly related on my mother's side," Bilbo says. "Cousins, of a sort. And the Mayor was my father's uncle, though he's likely out of office by now—Mayors get elected every four years, y'see, and he'd already been elected the full two times he could run."

The dwarves exchange looks, but Bilbo has no idea what any of them are thinking. It _had_ hurt to have so many of his own family members be willing to decide to banish him, but he's made his peace with it and most of them are out of office now anyway. The more important thing for him now is the decision of the dwarves in front of him. Will they cast him out as well? He'd known it was a possibility the moment he decided to sign the contract and go with them—perhaps he should've told them about Smaug before he agreed? 

_Be calm._

Bilbo realizes he's begun to hyperventilate and regulates his breathing. He can be calm. After all, what does he lose if they decide they don't want him to come with them after all?

_A chance at adventure and the wide-open world,_ Smaug thinks, as wistful as Bilbo feels. _If they will not take us, we will go on our own. How could they hope to stop us?_

"Master Baggins," Thorin says, stepping forward. "Will you be willing to sign a secondary contract that promises that your dragon will do no harm to any in our Company and assure us of his unfailing loyalty in our quest?"

There's some muttering amongst the dwarves, but no one protests. Bilbo blinks, honestly astonished. 

"You'll take us on still?" he blurts out before he can think about it. "Even though—"

Thorin eyes Smaug, full of wariness and distrust and a little disgust, but he doesn't turn away or leave. 

"If he attacks any of us, we will leave you behind," Thorin says. "If he shows any sign of defection, we'll kill him and you." Smaug growls low in his throat and Bilbo is immediately hustled into Smaug's chest.

"As long as we're making deals," Smaug says and Thorin flinches again when he speaks. "If you harm my Bilbo in any way, I'll slaughter all of you and leave your bones to the crows. Are we clear?"

Bilbo rubs at his eyes. Why is he always falling in with such violent crowds? All this talk of slaughter and murder, _honestly_ —

"No one's going to _kill anyone_ ," he says and firmly steps out of Smaug's possessive embrace. Smaug makes a noise of protest, his mind going slightly panicked at having Bilbo out of his grasp, so Bilbo sighs and steps back again, allowing Smaug to clutch him close. "I'm sure we can all at least _pretend_ that we're civilized beings, for Eru's sake."

_They could hurt you,_ Smaug says, feeling sulky again. _They're so much bigger than you, my treasure, and they have weapons._

_Do you think so little of me, that I would let them hurt you or me?_ Bilbo demands. _I am not some child to be defended, Smaug._

"Although I should add that if any of you try to hurt my dragon, I'll gut you with a pig-sticker," Bilbo says, smiling cheerfully at them and watching with some amusement as several of them gape at him. He may be civilized, but that doesn't mean he's going to be _stupid_.

"Well now that all the threats are done," Gandalf says, eyes twinkling. "We can move on to our next order of business. Bilbo, I believe you had something planned for breakfast?"

* * *

The dwarves are all quiet as Bilbo leaves to get started on breakfast, Smaug snaking out of the open back door. Gandalf gives them a long, pointed look before he follows Bilbo into the kitchen.

"A dragon," Fíli says, a little hysterically once they're alone. "He has a _dragon_."

"I have to admit, it's not what I was expecting," Balin says. "But it does seem fairly well-tamed, for such a creature. And Master Baggins obviously has a great tenderness for it."

"Did you hear it?" Kíli says to Ori. "It said it would _leave our bones to the crows_."

"Only if we hurt Master Baggins," Ori says, though he doesn't sound so sure about it. 

"More to the point," Nori cuts in, "let's all talk about how Master Baggins was left here to rot by his _own family_."

They all stew in that for a long moment. There's little dwarves value more than family—to betray a member of your clan in the way that Bilbo Baggins' family has is unthinkable for any of them. 

"His own _grandfather_ ," Bofur mutters. "I can't believe it."

"He did have a _dragon_ ," Dori points out, though he sounds as troubled as the rest of them. "Surely they thought it was in the interest of—well, public safety!"

"They could've done a mite better by the lad than throwing him out of the door," Dwalin says, brow furrowing as he trains his gaze on the kitchen door, where they can hear the faint sounds of Baggins talking to Gandalf. "Seems to me all they did was make the whole thing worse."

"He could've attacked them," Nori agrees. "Gotten revenge for being thrown out like trash by his own family."

"Stupid mistake," Glóin says. "They made themselves an enemy they didn't need, banishing him like that."

"Enough," Thorin cuts in, and they all fall silent. "We're agreed that he will stay on, despite the dragon?"

"It'll be hard to hide something like that," Balin says. "Especially when he come to the towns."

"It can stay outside," Dwalin says. "Hide in the countryside. And it'll be a help if we run into orcs or goblins on the way. We're going through the Mountains, after all."

They all wince as one. Dwarves they may be, but the Misty Mountains were enough to make anyone wary.

"You're _sure_ it won't eat us?" Ori pipes up.

"Smaug can't stand the taste of dwarf," Baggins says, making several of them jump, including Thorin—he hadn't heard the blasted little thing come back in! As they all turn to face him, Thorin acknowledges a little begrudgingly that Gandalf was probably right about Bilbo being their burglar. "You're all too hairy."

"Hair is a sign of vitality for dwarves," Balin says, but his eyes are twinkling in the way they do when he's amused.

"Or _virility_ ," Óin says, winking.

"Ew," Fíli mutters to Kíli and Thorin rolls his eyes.

"Breakfast will be ready soon," Baggins says, choosing to diligently ignore the last few minutes of conversation. "I'd ask you to gather your things—better to be off sooner, rather than later, I expect. We can leave as soon as we finish eating."

"You're ready to go?" Thorin asks, surprised.

"I packed before you all woke," Baggins says. "Smaug and I will be ready to set out whenever you've gathered your things. As long as we're gone before nightfall, I don't see much trouble."

"We'll leave as soon as we've finished eating," Thorin says. "The less time we lose, the better."

Baggins eyes him. "Yes, Master Oakenshield, you're welcome for the free food," he says, very dry. Thorin can feel his ears going red and judging from the snickers behind his back, Dwalin's noticed.

"We are in your debt, Master Baggins," Thorin says. 

Baggins, to Thorin's surprise, smiles up at him—his eyes crinkle at the corners and he exposes two lines of small, white teeth. 

"Oh, it's alright, Master Oakenshield," he says through the smile. "I've lived with a dragon for the past thirty years—I'm used to terrible manners." There's more snickering at that. "Dwarves are an improvement no matter how terrible, I'd expect." He turns to the rest of them. "Breakfast in five minutes! And please _share_ the bacon, I don't need a repeat of last night." 

He turns a stink-eye on Fíli and Kíli, who exchange guilty looks, before he turns and marches back into the kitchen.

The Company are all silent for a long moment.

"Well, we can't say he won't be able to keep up, I suppose," Bofur says, and they all laugh.

* * *

They set off in the early afternoon and make good time to Bree, despite having to walk; they had planned to buy ponies in the Shire, but now knowing that Baggins was banished, Thorin felt it would be wiser to wait until they made it to Bree, especially since it was a short distance from the Forest. On Gandalf and Baggins' advice, they skirted the edges of the Barrow-Downs, but they were still able to make it to the gate of Bree by early evening. 

"Your dragon okay with staying out there?" Dwalin asks as they approach the gate.

The dragon had had a quick word with Baggins as they left and disappeared above the trees—none of them have seen it since, even at a distance.

"He'll stay hidden," Baggins says. "I've told him to avoid the Downs and hunt as he pleases—he'll rejoin us tomorrow when he make camp, I think."

Thorin raps on the gate and they are let in by a suspicious, shift-eyed guard. It's late enough that the streets are mostly deserted as they make their way into the city toward the Prancing Pony, which Gandalf has promised has both beds and horses for sale. The inn itself is not much to look at, but Thorin's learned to let go of propriety when it came to a roof over the head for the night, and most of his dwarves share the sentiment. 

They crowd in, drawing attention from the room. Most of them have lost interest by the time Thorin pays for the rooms and starts bargaining with the inn-keeper for the number of ponies he'll need, and the Company is free to disperse as they please, most of them grabbing tankards of ale and sitting near the fire. 

Thorin concludes his business and goes to join the group—Dori and Óin have gone to sleep, but everyone else has drawn up tables together, even Baggins and Gandalf. Kíli and Fíli sing a cheery drinking song as the rest of them chat. Thorin takes a seat next to Dwalin and draws Balin into plans for their travel for the next week, content to have a safe haven to rest and be merry in before their long journey truly begins.

"Well, Yavanna rest my soul, but isn't that Bilbo Baggins?"

Thorin frowns and turns at the voice. A group of hobbits have approached their table. They're dressed in practical, sturdy clothing and have slingshots and small knives tied to their waists. They're all, to a one, sneering at Baggins, who's gone tense.

"I have no trouble with you," Baggins says. "We're outside the Shire and outside your jurisdiction."

"My mum's told me stories about you," says one of the hobbits. "You're the freak with the dragon, aren't you?"

"Yeah, he is," another hobbit confirms. "Brought the thing home and _bonded_ with it. He would've killed us all in our sleep, if we'd let him stay."

"Everyone knows dragons are bloodthirsty," the first hobbit agrees. "I mean, you pick up a history book and read about all the nasty stuff they do to good, honest folk—who knows what that kind of effect that _creature_ can have?" He raises his voice. "Shouldn't be allowed in any _proper_ establishment, the way I see it!"

Baggins is white as a sheet and Thorin's already half-standing, prepared to say—say _something_ , when there's the heavy thud of an axe-shaft hitting the floor in a decided thump. The hobbits jump and turn to face Dwalin, who's been sitting quiet next to Baggins the entire time and let the handle of Grasper hit the ground.

"Did you lads need something?" he asks, and Thorin recognizes that deceptively calm, even tone. He's heard it every time Dwalin is truly furious. "Or are you here just to spout hot air at us?"

One of the hobbits obviously don't have any self-preservation. "You're actually sitting with that—"

"The way I see it," Dwalin continues as if the hobbit hasn't spoken, "is you lads have one of two choices. You can leave and keep your sorry heads in the place they're supposed to be, or—" Dwalin grins, exposing all his teeth. The hobbits flinch as a group. "You can get real _acquainted_ with my good friend Grasper here." He hefts the axe up for them all to see. "It's your choice."

There's a long silence—everyone in the bar has fallen silent by now and watches their group. Thorin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning; it's not kingly to grin at Dwalin threatening a bunch of hobbits, he's sure.

The hobbits exchange looks and scamper off without another word, proving that they at least have _some_ self-preservation. It isn't until they're out the door that the tension at the Company's table relaxes and Dwalin puts Grasper away—and conversation starts up again in the rest of the bar.

"You didn't have to do that," Baggins says to Dwalin, pale-faced and stern-mouthed. "I can handle a couple of drunk Bounders."

"Bounders?" Ori asks, leaning around Nori. "What's—"

"They're a kind of hobbit guard in Buckland," Baggins says, not looking away from Dwalin. "They don't have much to do—they just keep people from wandering into the Forest and fight off wolves in the winter, if need be. And they're _completely harmless_."

"Didn't look like it," Dwalin says, going back to his tankard with superb nonchalance. "Seemed like a bunch of whiny piss-babies—enough to put a dwarf off his drink. Can't have that."

Nobody ever believes Thorin, because Dwalin is tall and rugged and got tattoos across his knuckles when he was drunk, but Dwalin is a soft touch. He just hates to let anyone know it—thus the tattoos and the axes and the general menacing faces.

"It's nothing I haven't dealt with before," Baggins says. "They were young and stupid—"

"They shouldn't have said those things to you," Gandalf cuts in. He eyebrows are drawn together and he looks as fierce and angry as Thorin's ever seen him. "Just because they weren't throwing bricks in your window—"

"They threw _bricks_ in your window?" Kíli asks, wide-eyed with horror. 

Baggins glares at Gandalf. "That was _one time_ ," he says. "And it's in the _past_. There's no need to keep bringing it up like this, Gandalf—"

He cuts off and eyes cloud over; Thorin guesses that he's probably talking to his dragon, as odd as that still seems. What must it be like, to have access to the mind of a dragon? Sivath had been enormous and destructive, more natural disaster than animal; Smaug is smaller and not as menacing, but his eyes unreadable, incomprehensible. Thorin can't imagine sharing a mind with it.

Baggins stands. "I'm going to bed," he says, stiff and furious still. He makes his out of the table, but turns before he goes too far to face Dwalin. "Thank you for your assistance." He makes it sound more like a curse.

They watch as he marches up the stairs. Thorin waits until Baggins isn't visible anymore and makes his way over to Dwalin's elbow. Dwalin is drowning another tankard of ale, apparently oblivious to the looks some of the Company is giving him.

"He's not a child," Thorin murmurs as he drops into the seat next to Dwalin that Baggins left vacated. "You don't need to protect him."

Dwalin grunts. "The lad would've let them walk all over him," he says. "Did you hear him?" He mimics Baggins' voice. " _I have no trouble with you_. Mahal, did he actually expect that to work?"

"He's not our problem," Thorin says.

"He signed the contract," Dwalin says. "Him and dragon. They're coming out here with us and risking their fool necks—seems the least we can do is stop a bunch of pasty-arsed drunks from talking shit."

Thorin eyes him for a long moment, then smiles. "I've never seen you take to anyone so quickly, cousin."

Dwalin goes ruddy around the ears. "It doesn't have anything to do with 'liking,'" he says. "Just—just the right thing to do, that's all."

"We're all family here, Dwalin," Thorin says, grinning now. "There's no need to pretend."

There's some snickering on the other side of the table—probably Kíli—and Dwalin slams his tankard down and stands.

"It's just _good sense_ ," he hisses. "No point in isolating our best chance in getting in the mountain!"

Fíli, bless his heart, sings, "Dwalin has a crush~!"

Dwalin makes a loud, aggravated sound and stomps off to the stairs. Thorin laughs as he leaves and feels lighter than he has in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Y'all can probably guess, but I'll confirm it—Smaug's mother was in thrall to the Necromancer. The details of why she abandoned Smaug in the Forest will come to light later on. As for Thrór—it seemed odd to me that a dragon would suddenly decide to attack Erebor after years and years, especially considering they had just gotten a ton of money. I'm not sure if canon confirms that Smaug attacks because Erebor became so wealthy, but that's my guess.  
> [2] The axes of the Dwarves! The dwarves are upon you! Khuzdul confirmed by canon.


	3. Out of Bree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... i'm SORRY.
> 
> this took an unexpectedly long time to write!! i've had a lot of schoolwork and work to do this past month or so, and that's kept me from really writing anything of length! however, school ends for me in a few weeks, so updates should come more regularly and quickly during the summer, as i'll have more time and less stress (with any luck). 
> 
> thank you for all the wonderful reviews and kudos! you're all lovely and magnificent!

**2911,  
** **Hobbiton**

_"You're getting worse," Bilbo says, watching the dragon they'd piled into one of the guest beds with concern._

_It's been three days since he found Smaug, and there's been no sign of improvement. The dragon continues to sleep, his mind a ragged wound in Bilbo's, constantly expressing painfearpainpain to the point where Bilbo has a constant headache. The wounds on his body and wings have yet to close, no matter how many bandages they try to apply, and Smaug makes a constant, whining sound even as he sleeps._

_"There has to be something more we can do," he mutters. "I found you, didn't I? That had to be for a_ reason _and it can't have been to just watch you_ die! _"_

_There's a hard knock on the front door and Bilbo frowns, casting a long look at Smaug before he steps out of the room. At the end of the hall, his mother is talking to someone standing outside their front door in a hushed voice._

_"Mother?" Bilbo asks, approaching._

_He gapes when he meets the somber, kind eyes of the tall wizard on their doorstep. He vaguely remembers him from when he was very young—Gandalf the Grey, who made fireworks that made the entire sky light up._

_"And you must be young master Bilbo," Gandalf says, eyeing him. He smiles, eyes crinkling. "You've grown well."_

_"Mother, did you—" he twists to meet Belladonna's eyes. "Is he here because—"_

_"Ah, yes," Gandalf says. "Your newest house guest. Well, I'm not sure what exactly I can do for the poor beast, but I will give it the best try I can."_

_He makes to step inside, but though Belladonna steps aside to let him through, Bilbo blocks his entrance. Gandalf's eyes snap down toward his, something shrewd and calculating in them before it's smoothed aside by a kind smile._

_Belladonna, on the other hand, frowns at him. "Bilbo!" she snaps. "Gandalf's come such a long way, don't—"_

_Gandalf holds up a hand to cut her off and says, "It's quite alright, Belladonna. What is it, Master Hobbit?"_

_"You have to promise," Bilbo says, his voice shaking. He's quivering all over, but he won't let this wizard in here, even if he_ can _turn Bilbo into a toad. "You have to_ promise _that you won't hurt him!"_

_Gandalf's eyes widen. For a moment, he regards Bilbo with absolute, stunned silence. Then, slowly, his mouth curls into a grin more genuine than anything Bilbo's seen him wear so far. He sweeps the gray hat off his head and holds it to his heart, bowing until he and Bilbo are nearly on eye level. His eyes aren't gray, like the rest of him—they are a bright, clear blue._

_"I can guarantee you that I will bring no harm to this creature, Master Baggins," Gandalf says. "Indeed, I will do my very best to save him. Will you allow me inside?"_

_Bilbo watches him closely, trying to find any hint of a lie. Wizards are powerful, maybe even more powerful than dragons—especially more powerful than a dying dragon. There is a part of him that considers Smaug his, in a way that he can't quite justify or explain to himself yet—and that part wants to be make sure that Gandalf is no threat before allowing him to come near his new injured companion. But Gandalf's eyes are calm and warm and he makes no move to force his way in, even though he's three times Bilbo's height and has magic._

_Bilbo steps aside._

* * *

**2941,  
** **Bree**

Bilbo comes downstairs the next morning at his usual hour to an empty dining area, and that suits him just fine. He exchanges quiet pleasantries with the yawning innkeeper and orders a plate of eggs and bacon before he settles into his seat with his journal and makes an entry for yesterday's travels. He likes to keep track of things in writing, though usually it's notes on whatever he's reading or researching at the time. He has half a mind to make a book of this entire thing when it's over—noble quests to regain homelands make good stories—and he'll want to have it all down so he can remember it later. Though he may leave out the part about Dwalin deciding to go stark raving mad and defending him against a bunch of fauntlings. 

Bilbo scowls at the memory of it. Before his banishment, he never interacted with the Bounders much—some of them were distant family members, but otherwise they were far enough away in Buckland to not bother with Bilbo. After his move into the Forest, they suddenly became very close, excessively nosy neighbors who took a keen interest in Bilbo's comings and goings to the point where he had been blocked off from Bree several times in order to keep him from 'disturbing the peace.' None of the Bounders liked him much and they all thought he was dangerous—if the Forest wasn't so intimidating, Bilbo has no doubt they would've already tried to run him out of it by now. 

But those Bounders last night had been quite young—probably just growing into adulthood, barely in their 30s. Bilbo may be smaller than all the dwarves, but he's perfectly capable of handling a few drunken faunts and their insults! He fumes just thinking about the way Dwalin blundered his way into the conversation.

 _The dwarf had the right idea_ , Smaug says. Bilbo retreats into their shared space and senses wind in his face—Smaug must be flying somewhere. 

 _Are you alright? We're leaving Bree tonight, so we can see each other again soon_.

Joy echoes down their bond—neither of them have ever been separated for more than a few hours at a time before, and even if physical separation doesn't mean much considering their mental bond, it's still a hard adjustment to make. 

_I am well. It gives me peace of mind to know that the dwarves will defend you when I cannot._

Bilbo's irritation returns. _I can defend myself!_

_Never as well as you should, against those who used to be your people._

_I am not some—fauntling to be coddled! We've survived on our own for long enough that we don't need some dwarf coming in and—_

"Oi."

Bilbo startles, knocking over the small pot of ink he'd set at his elbow and spilling it all over the table. Dwalin looks supremely unconcerned by the entire affair.

"You—!"

Bilbo scrambles after the half-empty glass jar and sets it right. He eyes the mess on the table and pulls out a handkerchief to mop it up as best he can.

"What do you want?" he asks, not looking up from his sorry excuse of cleaning.

Dwalin coughs. "May I sit with you?"

Bilbo gives him a look from under his eyelashes, suspicious at this sudden show of manners, but Dwalin doesn't give anything away, so he just nods. Dwalin sweeps into the seat opposite of Bilbo's and proceeds to stare at him in silence for a full minute before Bilbo finally breaks.

" _What_?" he snaps. 

Dwalin's lip twitches. "I'm not good with manners or those social niceties of high society," he says. "But my brother tells me I made an error last night and bullied me into a promise to apologize."

He looks at Bilbo expectantly and Bilbo raises an eyebrow as the silence between them drifts on.

"Yes?"

Dwalin's face goes from indifferent to exasperated. "Do you accept my apology or not, hobbit?"

Bilbo adopts his sweetest tone. "Oh? I don't believe I've _heard_ an apology yet, Master Dwalin."

Dwalin actually closes his eyes like he's praying to Mahal—as if Bilbo's being the trying one!—before he says, "I'm damned sorry for trying to do one bloody good deed, alright? It won't happen again."

"It's not that I don't appreciate the help," Bilbo says, ignoring Dwalin's snort of disbelief. "But I've taken care of myself for long enough and I don't need a minder, Master Dwalin. My—issues with my people are my business."

Dwalin's silent for long enough that Bilbo looks over at him, a little concerned, but Dwalin's just regarding Bilbo with a thoughtful stare. When their eyes meet, Dwalin sighs and stands up. 

"You're an alright sort, hobbit," he says and reaches out to ruffle Bilbo's hair. "Even with the dragon."

He stomps out without another word, leaving Bilbo flustered and messy-haired to gape after his retreating back.

* * *

They make it out of Bree without incident and without meeting any other hobbits, to Bilbo's quiet relief. He's still not quite sure what to make of his odd conversation with Dwalin before the others woke up, so he avoids the other dwarf—easy to do, since Dwalin rides at the front of the pack with Thorin, and Bilbo lags behind to chit-chat with Dori and Nori.

He's starting to get the names to go along with the faces, he thinks. It's easier once he actually starts talking to them and they become less a pack of faceless dwarves with interchangeable rhyming names and more their own individuals. He finds that he likes Nori's dry sense of humor and manages to have a nice long chat with Dori about the tea trade in the Shire. He finds, to his own surprise, that he's rather enjoying himself, though he'd been resigned to being bored amongst the company of dwarves who he'd thought had little in common with him. 

Still, as nighttime draws near, he grows more and more anxious. He can tell some of the dwarves notice, for they start shooting him looks as the sun lowers, but Bilbo can't help it: he's never been away from Smaug this long and their separation is like an itch he can't scratch, slowly driving him to distraction. He can still feel Smaug's mind, bathe in the touch of its concentration and joy in flight or exchange conversation. But he finds that he misses the physicality of Smaug at his back. Ever since he was banished, there was never a reason for Smaug to be away from him and Bilbo realizes now how much he'd gotten used to that.

He doesn't realize how much anxiety he's projecting until he hears someone clearing their throat and turns to see Thorin has dropped back to ride at his side. Thorin, as always, is frowning at him. 

"Are you alright, Master Baggins?" he asks. "You've been—" He pauses, clearly searching for the right word, "distracted for the past few hours."

Bilbo flushes. How is he supposed to say this without sounding like a faunt crying for their favorite blanket?

"It's just odd, being away from Smaug," he confesses in a rush.

Thorin blinks. Then blinks again.

"You miss the _dragon_?" he asks, incredulous.

Bilbo frowns at him. "Of course I do!" he says. "We've never been away from each other for so long before!"

"Never?" 

"He is—" Bilbo shakes his head. How can he explain this to someone who lives alone in their head? "I was banished from my home, Master Thorin. My friends turned their back on me and I left with whatever I could carry. My parents are dead and most of my family hates me or is scared of me. Smaug is—all I've had for a very long time. It's just odd, him being gone."

 _I'm never truly gone, treasure_.

 _I know,_ Bilbo says. _But it's different, isn't it?_

A long pause. _Yes_ , Smaug admits, a little weary. _Yes, it is_.

Thorin's still staring at him, but Bilbo matches his gaze and raises his eyebrows in challenge. Thorin doesn't ever seem to know what to do when he's being challenged, so it usually flusters him enough to let Bilbo throw him off-balance. Bilbo plans to use it all the time to get his way, because otherwise Thorin might steam-roll right over him with every little thing.

"Halt!" Thorin calls out, to Bilbo's surprise. There's still some sunlight left—he thought they'd continue on for at least another hour. "We make camp here!" 

There's a relieved sigh throughout the group as they all slide off their horses and start setting up camp for the night. Bilbo's not sure what to think as he slides off his own horse. They've stopped in a wide, grassy clearing surrounded by trees and cover—a good place to camp and probably the best they're going to find all night. But it seems awfully suspicious that Bilbo would admit to missing Smaug and Thorin would give him the opportunity to see him within the next minute.

Bilbo shoots Thorin a wary look, but Thorin's already in the midst of organizing who's doing what, so he doesn't even notice. Ah well.

 _Coming down?_ Bilbo asks, bouncing on his toes. 

 _I'll frighten the dwarves_ , Smaug says, not sounding particularly upset. _Do you mind?_

They'll have to get used to Smaug eventually. _Nah,_ he says. _Go ahead_.

Some of the dwarves shriek when Smaug suddenly drops into the clearing out the trees, though several of them—Dwalin, Glóin, and Thorin among them—barely even twitch. Bilbo's already running at him full-speed before he hits the ground, not slowing down even when he slams into the hard scales of Smaug's chest. Smaug curls around him immediately, head and wings coming up so that Bilbo's completely enfolded. Bilbo huddles into Smaug's warm, hard chest and feels content for the first time all day.

"Master Baggins?" someone says outside of his make-shift dragon-tent. "Are you alright?"

 _One of the younglings,_ Smaug says, sounding irritated. _Tell him to go away, you're mine again._

"I'm fine!" Bilbo says. "Let me know when it's time for dinner!"

 _I'm not yours,_ Bilbo says, as stern as he can. _I don't belong to anyone, remember?_

Resigned irritation. _You're mine,_ Smaug says. _And I'm yours. You don't need to be so stubborn about it, treasure._

 _Someday I'm going to get you to stop thinking of things in term of possessing or not possessing,_ Bilbo says.

Fond amusement. _You can dream all you like about that day._

Bilbo can hear the panicked conversation happening amongst his companions, but he's too comfortable and happy to give it much thought. Instead, he curls up against Smaug's chest, puts his head on Smaug's bent foreleg and takes a nice little nap.

* * *

 

"Did you see the way Bilbo ran at it?" Kíli whispers. "If the dragon were any smaller, he would've bowled it over! What's he _doing_ in there?"

Thorin spares a glance at the huddled red figure at the edge of camp. Smaug is curled up like a cat in slumber, one wing partially spread to cover its curved body like a shade and obscuring any view they might have of the hobbit presumably still in its embrace. Its great yellow eyes are closed, snout resting on an outstretched foreleg, but Thorin knows better than to assume it's asleep—dragons were wilier than that.

He's curious about what Baggins is doing as well, though he doesn't say as much. He's seen dwarflings who ran at their mothers after a long separation in the same way that Baggins barreled into his dragon, and the way that the dragon huddled around him spoke of a similar dissatisfaction with their separation. Thorin's still not quite sure what to make of that. Is it really so hard to be separated from each other? He's never felt particularly sad about being separated from his horse for such a long time.

 _"Smaug is—all I've had for a very long time_ , _"_ Baggins had said. His only friend and family in the whole world. Thorin has missed Dís with a fierce ache since they left her in Ered Luin. He's missed Dwalin and Balin and the boys whenever he had to travel alone as a smith to gather money. Perhaps not enough to run into their arms when they reunited, but he has never been demonstrative enough for that. Is Smaug truly as dear to Baggins as his kin? Perhaps dearer, considering the way his kin threw him out of their home. 

To be family to a dragon must be an odd thing indeed. 

The dragon, as if sensing Thorin's thoughts, lifts its head to stare at him across the field. Thorin can only meet its gaze for a moment before he has to look away—it reminds him too much of Sivath, though Sivath's gaze had been black as night and cold.

"Bilbo is asleep," the dragon says, and though some of their Company gasp, Thorin knows it's talking to him. "I will wake him when your meal is ready."

"What about you?" Balin asks. "Or have you eaten already?"

Smaug huffs, some sort of draconic version of laughter. "I ate while I waited for you to catch up." 

"Catch up!?" Kíli exclaims. Thorin's fairly sure he hadn't realized it would draw the dragon's attention to him, from the way he pales when Smaug swings its head to face him. "I mean—we rode hard today," Kíli says, in a much meeker tone.

"I am still small," Smaug says. "But the wings of a dragon are faster than the hooves of any horse."

"It's too bad you haven't gone through your next growth, Smaug," Gandalf calls out from his place near the edge of camp. "You could've carried us to Erebor in a few week's time."

Smaug growls. "I carry no one but Bilbo on my back, wizard," it says. "You know that."

"Bilbo rides you?" Thorin asks, before he can think better of addressing the beast. Those gold eyes turn back toward him and Thorin finds himself trapped in their gaze. 

"Bilbo is mine," Smaug says. "As I am his. My wings are at his service, just as his light feet are at mine."

Thorin wonders what it's like, to ride on the back of a dragon. He's never known anyone able to do it, not even from the myths of old - dragons are wild creatures, independent of anyone's agenda. They bring chaos and destruction. To ride one would be to invite certain death - and yet somehow a small hobbit has managed the task.

There's some sort of grumbling noise, and then Bilbo emerges from under Smaug's wing. Smaug attempts to reel him back in, but Bilbo simply bats its forearms away like he would a kitten's. Thorin's becoming more and more sure that their new companion is mad.

"I couldn't sleep with all your yammering on," Bilbo says to Smaug. "Stop trying to provoke the dwarves."

Smaug must say something in their mindspeech, for Bilbo sputters and laughs. Thorin turns back to their fire, where their swiftly caught rabbits are slowly roasting over a spit. In any case, he's quite sure he'll never understand their new companion. 

* * *

 

Bilbo relaxes against Smaug as the others talk quietly amongst themselves. Dinner was sparse, but after a day of little food, it's nice to have something in his belly. He blows out another smoke ring, smiling as it comes out perfectly. 

"Master Baggins…?"

Bilbo looks up to see one of the young dwarves watching him—Ori, that's his name. The quiet one who had liked Bilbo's books. 

"Did you need something, Master Ori?" he asks, careful to keep his voice kind. 

He'd had plenty of cousins who were the shy type. Bilbo had always found speaking to them gently had helped immeasurably with their anxiety. Ori does relax a little, but his eyes keep darting back toward Smaug.

"I was just—" He bites his lip. "I wondered about your connection," he blurts out. "With—with Master Smaug."

Smaug huffs out a laugh. "Did you hear that, treasure?" he asks. "I was just called 'master' by a dwarf."

"You shouldn't give him titles," Bilbo says to a petrified Ori. "They'll just go to his head. What did you want to know?"

Ori startles, as if he hadn't expected Bilbo to actually answer his question. Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulls out a roll of parchment and a battered quill. 

"You said you can speak with him," Ori starts, some of his anxiety lost in his enthusiasm. "Can you feel his emotions as well? Or his pain? How far does the link extend—if he were, say, on the other end of Middle Earth would you still be able to hear him? Does he sound the same in the mind as he does out loud? Does he—"

Bilbo holds up a hand, laughing. "You'll need to ask one question at a time, I'm afraid. I may not look it, but I'm too old to keep up with you if you go on like that!"

Ori smiles at him, a little bashful. "Oh, my apologies. Well… how old were you, when the connection formed?"

"Well I was nothing more than a faunt when I found him—21, I believe. The moment we met we could speak in each other's minds and I could feel what he was feeling. However, around when I turned…oh, 22 or 23, the connection deepened - I could feel what he was feeling much more acutely, if that makes sense, and when he got hurt it would hurt me as well. Never the same intensity, more like an ache to the place he was wounded."

Ori's writing everything he's saying down at a furious pace. "Do you know what happened to make it deepen?" he asks, not looking up from his page.

Bilbo smiles ruefully at his bent head. He knows that intense scholarly appetite well—for a moment, he misses his books quite desperately. They were his only companions aside from Smaug.

"Not exactly," he says.

He has an idea, but it's a little personal to share with a dwarf he barely knows. Perhaps when the journey is over, he'll tell it to Ori. He expects by the time everything is said and done, he'll know all of these dwarves quite well—and if things don't go to plan, he'll no doubt bury some of them. The thought makes Bilbo's chest ache.

"Ori! Ori, you silly dwarfling, what are you doing—?" Dori stomps over and freezes when he sees who Ori is sitting with. Confusion turns into resignation. "Oh no. Master Bilbo, I'm so sorry—"

Bilbo laughs. "It's no trouble," he says. "In fact, I used to be in Ori's position quite often when I was a faunt, only it was my father apologizing for me instead."

Ori grins at him, but he goes obediently enough when Dori hassles him. Dori offers Bilbo a bow and a rueful look before he follows, leaving Bilbo to his peace once more. 

 _They're an odd people,_ Smaug says. 

_Any odder than dragons or hobbits?_

_I suppose not. But you were right, what you thought before—this is not a peaceful journey they're making. And if a shadow-drake is at the end of the trail…_

_I know. Not all of us will make it out of this alive._

Smaug curls tighter around Bilbo. _You and I will._

Bilbo pats Smaug's snout gently, watching with fond amusement as Smaug's eyes cross trying to look at where his hand rests. 

_Of course, dear heart._

He carefully shields the rest of his thought from Smaug—that if they don't make it out together, then at least they'll surely die together. 

* * *

Bilbo decides that the best way to avoid his gloomy thoughts is to fly.

"I'll be with Smaug today," he tells the group the next morning, to various reactions. "Tell Gandalf to send out a signal once you've stopped for the day—we'll find you."

"Are you sure that's a wise idea?" Gandalf asks, frowning. "What if you're seen? The further we go out, the more likely it is we run into goblins or orcs—"

Bilbo plants his hands on his hips and glares up at the wizard. "Smaug is a _dragon_ , you daft old man," he says. Someone chokes in the group of dwarves. "And I may not be a dwarf or a _wizard_ , but I have a knife and I know how to use it. If we run into trouble, we'll deal with it."

Gandalf stares down at him. When he was a fauntling, a look like that would've made him quake in his boots—but he's known Gandalf too long now to be intimidated by that kind of thing. Where others see a legendary wizard, Bilbo sees the old man who visits him a few times a year and complains about the ache in his back, who blows beautiful smoke rings in his backyard and sets off harmless fireworks. 

Gandalf's stern look melts into a smile. "Bothersome creature," he says. "With every year I know you, you become more of a fool-headed Took."

Bilbo snorts. "Bagginses are just as stubborn, Gandalf," he says. "We just hide it behind better manners."

He turns to Smaug and swings his way onto his back. Smaug's not much bigger than a small horse, and Bilbo can launch himself onto his broad back by climbing from his haunches.

"You don't have a saddle?" Kíli asks with astonishment.

Bilbo turns to see all the dwarves watching him, some of them wide-eyed. He snorts.

"We've never bothered with nonsense like that," he says, patting Smaug's neck. "Good luck with the road, boys. I'll see you at nightfall."

_Time to go, dear heart._

Joy thrums along their bond, and Bilbo grins, wide and feckless, as Smaug takes a powerful leap into the air, lifting them up and away from the group on the ground with only a few beats of his wings. Within minutes, they are alone in the sky, everything below barely a speck on the ground.

Bilbo sighs and leans forward, bracing his head against Smaug's neck. Sometimes it is only like this, just him and his dragon, that he feels at peace.

* * *

 

"The hobbit _will_ rejoin us?" Thorin says to Gandalf as they make their way down the road on their ponies.

He keeps seeing it in his mind's eye—Bilbo and Smaug not so much taking to but _leaping_ to the sky, as if everything in their bodies longed for it. Thorin's a dwarf—he's got earth in his bones, in his marrow. Even high places make him a little leery. Flying on the back of a dragon just seemed damned dangerous, not to mention unsettling. But then again, this is the hobbit who flung himself out of trees on a regular basis.

"Oh yes, yes," Gandalf says. "Bilbo is a hobbit of his word. He _did_ sign the contract, you know. Both of them."

"He is one with a dragon's mind," Thorin says. "You may trust him despite that—I do not. If you did not insist that we need him—"

"You do," Gandalf says, implacable. "This quest will fail without him."

"Yes, as you keep saying," Thorin says, irritated. "I admit his dragon will be useful if we can keep the beast in line, but I fail to see how the hobbit will pose a greater threat to Sivath than my company. He may have a knife and know how to use it, but he's no warrior."

Gandalf smiles a little. "No, he is not," he says. "Though I believe he might surprise you in a fight, Master Dwarf. No, Bilbo is even better than a warrior—he is a burglar."

"We have one of those as well," Thorin says, thinking of Nori.

"Master Nori smells too much of dwarf to fool even a dragon's nose," Gandalf says. "But Master Baggins is a hobbit, something very few dragons have encountered—especially not a shadow drake from the South!"

"Will the dragon not recognize the scent of another dragon?" Thorin asks.

"Perhaps," Gandalf admits. "But I do believe that another dragon mixed with an unusual scent is still a better thing than a dwarf—one, Sivath is used to or doesn't care about, the other he already knows as his enemy."

"That dragon—Smaug. It's too small to fight Sivath," Thorin says. He's been thinking about it since Bilbo and Smaug joined their company. "Sivath is . . . _monstrous_. It won't be able to—"

"Worried?" Gandalf says, with a gentle voice. Thorin glares up at him, but Gandalf only smiles. "It's alright to be, you know. Smaug is a charismatic creature, and it would hurt Bilbo deeply if we were to lose him."

"The hobbit and his feelings aren't my concern," Thorin says. "I will not be responsible for him, or for the dragon's fate—whatever happens to them may rest directly at your feet, Gandalf."

"Ah," Gandalf says. "Well, you're in luck, my friend. I've carried the weight of that responsibility with me for many years now—I'll hardly notice a few more months with it."

He rides a little faster, catching up with Balin before Thorin has a chance to respond. Thorin fumes on his horse. Damned wizards always have to get the last word! 

"He's a good lad, that hobbit."

Thorin jerks around to see Dwalin riding up next to him. 

"Mahal, you really _do_ have a crush," Thorin says, though it comes out more snappish than teasing.

Dwalin gives him a measuring look. "He apologized to me yesterday," he says. "About the way he reacted when I stepped in. Seemed to think that he can get by on his own, though." His beard twitches. "Reminds me a lot of you, actually."

Thorin scowls. "I have nothing in common with that tiny, beardless, _dragon-loving_ dwarfling," he snaps. 

Dwalin snorts. "Oh, aye, I can see that," he says, with such sardonic amusement that Thorin wants to hit him. "I'm just saying—well, keep an eye on the lad, of course. But you might as well cut him a little slack. It's a long journey to be at someone's neck the entire time."

Thorin watches, bemused, as Dwalin drops back to chat with Nori. Has the hobbit won over his entire Mahal-damned company? _How_? He is a tiny, rude thing, he has a _dragon_ , he's shown little interest in being their comrade. Even if Thorin's eyes catch on the curve of his ears or the brightness in his dark eyes—

Thorin stomps that thought to a bloody death and resolves to ignore both Dwalin and Gandalf's words. He doesn't have to like the hobbit to use him. He doesn't have to care about the hobbit's welfare and he _especially_ doesn't have to care about a _dragon_.

No, Thorin will just keep a close eye on them and treat them as the useful tools they are. There doesn't need to be anything more to it than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short, but we'll see some more major action next chapter. this is more of a filler and chance for character interaction than anything else. i'm glad you guys have enjoyed the story so far and please leave a comment or kudos if you're up to it! i clutch them all to my chest and weep softly to myself, so they're going to a good cause.


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